


With the Same Heart

by ieve, internetshutin



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Angst, Codependency, Explicit Sexual Content, Franco-Prussian War, Germancest, Historical, Inspired by Roleplay/Roleplay Adaptation, M/M, NSFW, Slow Burn, Unhealthy Relationships, World War II, young germany
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-06
Updated: 2020-08-18
Packaged: 2021-01-24 06:27:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 52,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21333724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ieve/pseuds/ieve, https://archiveofourown.org/users/internetshutin/pseuds/internetshutin
Summary: The life of a Nation is complicated, and the lives of Germany and Prussia are no exception. In their Nations' darkest hour, they are finally given respite in the blooming love between them. But that love puts them both in danger and, faced with impossible choices, they have to cling to each other tightly or lose each other altogether. Can they survive the dangers of their war-torn world or their decades-long separation? More importantly, should they? Or is their relationship itself too volatile?Come back every Wednesday for new chapters!
Relationships: France/Germany (Hetalia), Germany/Prussia (Hetalia)
Comments: 29
Kudos: 79





	1. The Aftermath of Battle

**Author's Note:**

> One fateful day in 2014, two weirdos on opposite ends of the world found each other on Omegle and started roleplaying. For years they wrote together and built a story of love, betrayal, and so. much. angst. Then one day one weirdo said to the other, "We should post this." And so they started the long, arduous process of separating their impossibly long story into chapters and editing their writing (and inwardly cringing along the way), and now, the first chapter is finally complete. 
> 
> We're hoping to post a new chapter of this every Wednesday as we slowly work through our old work, so if you like this, be sure to check in every week or subscribe! 
> 
> Chapter warnings: Some gore and descriptions of war and death.

_ 1870 _

A child as young as Ludwig shouldn't have been able to step over hundreds of corpses and not even bat an eye, but he was too focused on finding Prussia to even care. The empty battlefield was quiet, so it was easy to hear a shuddering, choking breath a few meters away from him, from a body he’d never imagined could be living. But the chalky skin and silver-blond hair gave away the corpse’s identity. "Gil!" He cried, darting over to the slim form of his older brother. "What happened to you?" He asked.  _ Stupid _ . He knew all too well what had happened. A large red stain spread across Prussia's uniform and the smell of iron was so thick in the air that he gagged. "Come on, I'm going to take you home." He tried in vain to lift Prussia. "You have to get up!"

Immediately a shuddering wheeze tore itself from deep inside Gilbert’s chest as soon as Ludwig pulled him upright, and then a rattling gasp. He was seeing double, colours suddenly too bright for his eyes. Every muscle in his body screamed him to stay down and let his body regenerate, but alas he could make out Ludwig’s voice, begging for an example. Forcing his eyes to focus, a hard gaze met the worried blue of his brother’s. His fingers curled around a small wrist. “Ludwig…” His tongue felt rigid in his mouth. “What did I tell you about going out into the field?” His voice didn’t cooperate in sounding as stern as he wanted to appear, words melting together stupidly. “What are you doing out here?” 

Eyes lowering, Ludwig bit his lip. "I just- The battle's been over for ages, and you didn't come back. I thought something bad happened, and I wanted to help..." He kept babbling, only stopping when he ran out of air and let out a resigned sigh. "Am I in trouble?" 

Letting his eyes fall shut, Prussia exhaled heavily. He wasn’t conscious enough for this. “No.” His strength wilted with the initial flash of worry, and he let his hand drop, leaving a red smear on a white sleeve. “You’re not in trouble.” It wasn’t as if he could entirely discipline him in such a state. With a laborious grunt, he stiffly moved from his upright position to one knee. In spite of the pain that willed him to stay down, he attempted a smile of reassurance.“Still, you’re smart enough to know that it’s not safe out here for a boy like you.” It devolved into a grimace as soon as he found steady footing. “I expected better.” 

Ludwig nodded, but it wasn’t as if he’d just get up and go home, leave the scavengers to make a meal of his brother. "I'm not leaving you here," he insisted, trying once more to lift his brother. He ended up on his back. "Er, can you walk?" he finally asked. "I'll try to support you and get you home.” 

“I’ll be fine,” Prussia said through his teeth as he forced himself to stand. His heart felt as if it were ready to shatter his ribs into a thousand pieces, and his head spun dangerously. It was only once Ludwig supported him upright that gravity brought the blood spilling from his stomach to his attention. While one hand cupped the wound, Gilbert’s other hand reached out to rest on Ludwig’s shoulder. “Really. I will be. I promise.” Regardless, the strain of holding himself up had him using the boy as a crutch. “You’re a good kid, Ludwig. And I appreciate all of this, but you shouldn’t have to worry about my shortfalls.” His teeth were bared, despite his very best attempts at appearing collected. “I’ve had worse. This is  _ nothing _ to me.” 

Wincing in sympathy, Ludwig rushed forward to take his hand, wrapping Gilbert's arm around his shoulder. They trudged off together toward their small, shared cottage in Westphalia, a safe house. Ludwig wondered whether he should tell Gilbert the truth about why he'd come onto the battlefield, but shook off the idea. Gilbert had more problems to worry about than what was going on in the boy's mind and heart. 

Once they reached their home, Ludwig brought Gilbert to their bedroom and lay him down on the bed. "Can you take off your shirt?" Ludwig requested softly. “I need to see how bad it is.”

Blood rusted fingers shakily undid the top buttons of his shirt, Gilbert made an effort to look anywhere but as his little brother. If the wound was as deep as he thought he was, the mere thought of Ludwig seeing it on him made his ears hot with shame. Even as the red continued to spill between his fingers, Gilbert stubbornly kept his hand over his stomach. If he didn’t know any better he could’ve sworn that his viscera was squirming with the very guilt of his own exposure. 

Ludwig didn't catch the expression, too occupied with finding bandages and cold water to rinse and bind the wound. He turned back to his brother and pulled the hand away without a second thought, immediately regretting it. Had he been mortal, Gilbert would have been dead. Bone and organs that should never be revealed to the outside world breathed free. Ludwig felt bile rise in his throat, and turned away, shuddering. "Brother... I'm so sorry." Gilbert wouldn't even be fighting if it weren't for him. He might as well have run him through himself.

Sighing, Gilbert forced himself to look down, catching a glimpse of his insides. The wound in itself wasn't a new sight, but his brother... It had shaken him, hadn't it? The mere reaction cut deeper than any knife could've. “Don’t be.” Straining, he reached out. "What happened out there, isn’t your fault." His thumb brushed over the soft back of his little brother's hand. “I probably asked too much of you… I can handle it if you can’t.” 

_ But that’s not true, is it? You did this to him. You betrayed him. _ He took a few deep breaths to compose himself. His shaking stilled and his expression calmed. "I'm alright now." He ignored his nausea and returned his attention to the wound, holding his breath as long as he could and taking shallow huffs whenever he had to. He pressed the cool cloth to the wound, wiping off the blood. "I'm going to start stitching you up," he warned, pushing the needle through skin. Ludwig stitched, cleaning the skin whenever he had to, and working so methodically, he almost forgot exactly what he was doing until the very end. He cleared his throat when the stitches were complete. "I'm done. Sorry, it's not very even."

“Pfah! Not even…” Sitting up, Gilbert inspected his brother’s handiwork injury and waved it off a little too nonchalantly for his current condition. "The fact that you’re stitching me up, is more than anything I’d expect of you.” His fingers brushed the bumped stitches with feather-soft care. He was silent for a while as he looked closely. “You’ve gotten better, you know…” There was a slight look of unsettlement on his face. “At this rate, I’ve got to be more careful. You’ll want to pursue a career in surgery instead of running an empire.”

Ludwig's cheeks burned when he caught the look, heart picking up speed. "I’m not sure if that's a good thing," he said.  _ He can’t know, can he?  _ He let the subject drop. "Are you hungry? I can make you something."

Snorting, Gilbert waved his hand, and settled himself in more comfortable position on his side, eyes dully inspecting his brother. “Seeing my own insides really stirs up my appetite Ludwig, thanks for asking.” Despite the sardony in his voice, the colour had begun to return to his face. "Go make yourself something,” he pulled the sheets up over his chest. “Really. If you want to be cracking jokes with a cannon wound in your side when you’re my age, you’ll do as you’re told.”

Glad for an excuse to leave, Ludwig went to the kitchen. He left a bit of the meagre meal out for Gilbert in case he changed his mind. But although the smell of food turned his stomach into a snarling beast, he couldn’t eat with the way his mind was racing. Gilbert would kill him if he learned the truth, and Ludwig couldn’t say he blamed him. But now, Gilbert was too weak to try and hurt him... He winced. How could he use his brother's injury against him in such a way? But he needed to tell Gilbert the truth, lest he find out for himself, and he wasn't keen on being murdered. Now was the time.

He screwed up his courage, took a deep breath and opened the bedroom door. "Brother?" He half hoped Gilbert was asleep.

No such luck. Opening an eye, Gilbert glanced up at Ludwig, whose apprehensive stance made him raise a brow. It silenced him, for once. 

"There- there's something I need to tell you, but you have to promise that you won't hate me when I do."

Prussia only stared as if perplexed, the image of calm. Yet, there was something about the finality of his brother’s words that had him holding his breath. “What could you tell me that would make me hate you?” he tapped the edge of the scratchy mattress, inclining his head. “Come on now, take a seat and tell your big brother what’s on your mind.” 

Ludwig laughed bitterly. "Oh, you have no idea." He took his brother's hand and squeezed gently. Fear gripped him as he realized how close they were, how easy it would be for him to take Ludwig by the throat. Taking a deep breath, he turned his eyes to his brother's. How could he even word this? "I've betrayed you. I told France where this safe house was."


	2. Ludwig's Betrayal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also known as: France is a Fucking Creep, Part 1. Thanks so much for the positive response on the first chapter.
> 
> Chapter Warnings: Mention of sexual content, emotional abuse, gaslighting, and pedophilia (Despite Ludwig being 50, he looks 12-13 so we're adding this as a TW regardless.)

A strange silence had swept through the room and covered them, where Gilbert tried to relax and comprehend the words that had just come from Ludwig’s mouth. “Don’t even joke about these things.” He took a moment to study the boy seated on the edge of the mattress - The expression of grim acceptance he wore, only betrayed by the flecks of terror within it. The slightly upturned angle of his brows, the thin line of his mouth, and the disloyal tremors that made his fingers unsteady, told Gilbert everything he needed to understand. Slowly, as if he were predicting that Ludwig would bolt like a startled deer, Gilbert sat up and leaned forward with a calculated languidness. “What did you do?” Though the words left him evenly, there was no mistaking the instability that resided in their calm. 

Ludwig could feel his heartbeat through his whole body, a sick, damp thud from his chest out to his head, his fingers, his toes, and as every painful thud washed through him, he awaited Gilbert's attack. "Please don't kill me," he whispered, looking away again. He was so close. It wouldn’t even be hard for Gilbert to pin him, take the dagger from under the pillow and slit his throat. His mouth moved on its own accord. He was only vaguely aware of what it was saying. The other half of his mind was consumed with an image of Gilbert’s ire, the kind of rage that had led to scorched cities and nations dissolved into ink on the page of a history book, directed at him. “I wasn’t thinking. I never thought he’d- He swore he wouldn’t hurt you!” Even as he said it, he knew how foolish he’d been to believe that for a second. When had his brother’s expression ever been so cold, so deathly calm? His breaths came in quick, uneven gulps, broken by hiccups and sobs. "I told him where this house was, and what I knew of your battle plans today," he sobbed, wrapping his arms around himself as he tucked his knees to his chest. As if that would protect him. "He- he asked me and I- I thought it couldn’t do any harm. You're a better fighter than him anyway, so-" He hiccuped. "I know I'd deserve it, but please, don't kill me." There was more, so much more that he needed to say, but he was so terrified, he just held his tongue. 

“I might if you stop your grovelling this instant,” Gilbert answered, staring down at him witheringly. “I didn’t raise a boy that not only goes behind the back of his people and liaisons with the enemy, but then has the audacity to beg for mercy from his superior as soon as he confesses to his actions!” The words emerged as more like a bark that Gilbert reserved specifically for lazy or incompetent soldiers, rather than his own brother. With a low sound of irritation that came from the back of his throat, Prussia grit his teeth, trying to figure out who he was more furious with. Ludwig, for being naive enough to fall for France’s honeyed words, or the bastard himself for poisoning his little brother with them. “I really thought I raised you better.” He breathed heavily through his nose. “Get up.” A heartbeat passed. “ _ Now! _ ” 

The world swam in front of his eyes. His head felt like it was filled with air, like he’d lose consciousness at any moment. He kept his gaze fixed on the pillow, and Gilbert’s hand, ready to run if Gilbert made even a twitch in that direction. He was going to die here, at his brother’s hand, when that same brother had scrapped and clawed for his body, his title, his nation over fifty-some years. He wished he could just accept it, take his punishment like a man, but his knees felt like clay and all he could think was that he hoped he could outrun Gilbert at least until he made it over the French border. His lips were moving in the most rapid, desperate Lord’s Prayer he’d ever uttered. Maybe the Lord his brother worshiped and claimed to be a just, forgiving God would have mercy on whatever soul the young nation might have. "You have to believe me," he pleaded. "I didn't think that you'd be hurt this badly. I am so sorry."

The words were met through a sharp inhale through Gilbert’s nose and narrowed eyes. “I can tell,” he answered dryly, wiping the crusted blood from his hand onto his trousers. “You know…” he began, “I ought to beat you black and blue for your stupidity, Ludwig. God knows I’d do it to anyone else, and I don’t hold you above it.” Wincing, he sat up with his back against the wall, regarding Ludwig with a new expression of unimpressed patience. “However, I’m not going to hurt you. That, I can promise you.” The hesitance he could see in his brother’s eyes, earned him a roll of his own. “Don’t look so scared. You know I like to hold my word.” As if to make good on his promise, he brushed a few locks of mussed hair out of Ludwig’s tear flushed face, giving his best to make his expression appear sympathetic. “Did France tell you that I’d hurt you if you told me what happened?” He held himself composed, despite his hand itching with the impulse to smack the boy at the sight of the tremors in his small shoulders.

It took a long, tense few minutes for Ludwig to stop his whimpering. He shook his head. His voice was still wavering when he spoke. “Not in so many words,” he said. “But I saw what you did to that man when you found out he was a French spy.” He shuddered at the memory. That was the first time he'd ever been scared of Gilbert.

Assured now that, at least, he wouldn’t be cut down where he sat, he continued his story. “You know you found me in France, right? Just after…” He cleared his throat. No, best not to get into the only thing that could possibly anger Gilbert more than treachery. “I was the Confederation of the Rhine, and I technically belonged to Francis- France. He took care of me and-” If Gilbert's expression was any indication, he did remember and didn't care to hear it. Ludwig swallowed a lump in his throat. "He asked me to help him clean his wounds. I- I felt like I owed him, for taking care of me, so I brought him here, and-" 

“And what!?” The sudden hold on his arm sent a shock of terror through him, his skin the victim of hundreds of invisible needles. He went cold, then hot, then numb all in the matter of a fraction of a second. He hadn’t even seen Gilbert move.

“He has absolutely no business asking such tall favours from a child!” The very thought of Francis having taken advantage of his brother’s kindness set his mind on the rightful target of his anger. “You don’t see me asking you for things like this! I didn’t even want you looking for me today! The fact that you had to even bandage me so many times in this war is shameful in itself, but at least you’re learning something practical!” He shut his eyes for a moment to chain back what would have been a long and unconstructive rant. “Do you know why I brought you with me?” he asked, leaning in towards Ludwig. The boy only stared at Gilbert through damp eyes. 

“I brought you here so that you could see firsthand what war is like. To teach you to survive outside the city without your servants and chambermaids. Out here, there is absolutely no room for you to be flitting between alliances. If you’re serious about becoming your own nation, you’ll do well to remember this.” Ludwig couldn’t even look Gilbert in the eye anymore. “France played on your good nature and used you to hurt me, Ludwig - You think he doesn’t have people who already take care of him? You have your own responsibilities. And one of them is to not stooping to help  _ vermin _ .” The hold on the boy’s arm slackened. “Do you understand?” 

Turning his face away, Ludwig nodded slowly. "I understand," he said. "But... Even in times of war, shouldn't we have compassion?” They weren’t his words. France had said them.  _ Have mercy on me, little one. Have compassion. _ Later, he’d look back and see the manipulation for what it was, but now, he stood up for France. “He was hurt, nearly as bad as you are now, and I couldn't just leave him there."

Before he could say anything else, a knock sounded on the door. His stomach sank.  _ France. _ Of course, come to gloat. "I'll go check it. Stay here, you'll tear your stitches if you move too much." Without another word, he closed the bedroom door. Behind it, Gilbert reached under his pillow for his dagger. 

It was when Ludwig opened the front door did he see exactly what he’d expected, France on the stoop, grinning like mad. "How are you,  _ cher _ ?" He asked. "Your idiot of a brother never saw it coming, did he?"

He flinched. “Shut up.” His voice was hoarse.

“Oh, please tell me, how badly is he hurt?” His eyes gleamed with sadistic joy. “Did you have to fix him up? Pathetic-”

“I said shut up!”

The anger that flashed in France’s eyes sent a jolt through Ludwig. He stepped back on instinct, as if he was facing a snarling predator. But France managed to grab his chin and lift his face to look at him. “I would be very careful with that tongue if I was you,  _ cher _ . Not everyone is as forgiving of brats who mouth off as I am.” 

Ludwig held tight to his wrist, trying to pry his hand off his face. “Get off my front step and never come back,” he hissed. “I made my choice, and it was  _ him _ , not you!”

Francis’ lip curled. He dropped Ludwig’s face. "Fine," he said. “But have you considered whether your brother even wants you anymore? Will he, when he knows what we did when I had you in my house? What you  _ begged me _ to do to you? Why don’t we ask him?” He made to push past Ludwig into the house.

“Don’t.” Ludwig’s voice was firm, but the fear on his face betrayed him. If Prussia ever found out how deep Ludwig’s loyalties ran to France, he’d be disgusted. “What you did to me isn’t my fault.”

“Isn’t it, though? I only ever touched you a little, but you… You were so  _ eager _ to please. And so skilled.” He pinned Ludwig between the house and his chest. 

Ludwig shoved his arms between them. “Enough.” His voice wavered. “Please, don’t. Not out here.”

France stepped back, looking hurt. “Do you really think me so cruel? I care about you so much, little one, and you don’t even see it.” He sighed. “I’m sorry I hurt him. I hurt you, too, didn’t I? It’s just that I miss you so much. It pains me to see you with him. He doesn’t even appreciate you.” He ran a hand over Ludwig’s cheek.

The boy felt something curl in the pit of his stomach. He’d never seen France so upset, so hurt. “I love him, Francis. I can’t even explain how much.”

“So you don’t love me anymore? Is that it? You cast me off for a stronger man and sit idly by while he takes my land from me?!” 

“No! It’s just- it’s a different kind of love. You understand that, don’t you? He’s good for my nation. He’ll make me stronger. And if he’s fighting against you, then I can’t-  _ we  _ can’t- do this.” Ludwig stood on his toes and kissed his cheek. “Please understand.”

France looked down. “I understand. But I don’t have to like it. Just be safe,  _ cher. _ All I want is for you to be safe.”

Ludwig couldn’t help a smile. “Of course. I’ll take care of myself.” He slipped in through the door, giving France a forlorn smile as the crack between door and jamb closed.

As if on cue, Gilbert pushed the bedroom door open and shuffled out of the bedroom, leaning on the doorway for support. His eyes wandered to the window as he watched the figure dart off into the woods and melt into the gloom it. "It was him again, wasn’t it?" His grip on the weapon in his hand tightened along with his jaw. 

Ludwig jumped in shock as he saw his brother against the doorway. He considered lying, but Gilbert wasn’t stupid. “It was,” he admitted. “He didn’t say anything important, just that you were pathetic, and he wanted to see you.” He rolled his eyes. “It doesn’t matter.” Looking Gilbert up and down, he pursed his lips. The serious expression didn’t match the pudge in his cheeks, the brightness of his eyes. “I told you to stay in bed. You’ll tear your stitches.” He tilted his head to get a better look at them. Thankfully they were still intact. He sighed. “How much did you hear, anyway?”

Gilbert raised a brow as Ludwig guided him back to his bedroom. “Barely anything,” he answered as he settled amongst the sheets. 

“Oh, good,” Ludwig said before he could stop himself. He turned red. “Not- I didn’t mean good, I just meant that’s fine. He didn’t say anything of consequence anyway.” He coughed. “We should get to sleep now. You need rest to heal.” He pulled the covers over Gilbert. “I think I’ll sleep at the foot of the bed tonight.” He usually ended up on top of Gilbert in his tossing and turning, and he didn’t want to risk hurting him tonight.

Gilbert narrowed his eyes for a flash of a second, but didn’t say another word. “Alright then,” he answered. “If you’re sure. If you’re cold, you can sleep next to me.” 

Ludwig gave a small nod as he curled up at the foot of his brother’s bed, untucking the edge of the blanket to use. “I will.” 

“Alright, good.” The bedroom fell silent, save for the sound of the two brother’s breathing, and the occasional breeze through the trees making trees whistle.

“I mean, this entire war is going to put a strain on your body, and I don’t want you getting si-”

“ _ I will. _ ” He curled up at the end of the bed, untucking an edge of blanket to use, and tried to sleep.  _ Tried _ being the operative word. He stared at the wall in front of him, breathing steady. 

Though he considered more than once taking Gilbert up on his offer to sleep next to him, he knew that the least he could do was to not cause him any more pain. So he put up with the slight chill in the air, barely staved off by the blanket.

* * *

Like clockwork, Gilbert woke at the first sound of birdsong. As he stretched, he noted with relief that his injury was no longer the pulling pain as stitches stretched, but rather a dull ache in his side. He ran his fingers thoughtfully over the seams, pressing down here and there to gauge the extent of his body regenerating. His attention was only pulled away when Ludwig’s head popped up at the foot of the bed, rubbing his bloodshot eyes. “Oh.” 

A yawn popped Ludwig’s jaw, and he ran fingers through his messy hair. “Morning _ ... _ What do you want for-” he yawned again- “breakfast? You didn’t eat last night, so I’m making you eat whether you’re hungry or not.” The soldiers could wait for their fearless leader and fight without him while he had breakfast, and Ludwig didn’t care what the general or anybody else had to say on the matter.

Gilbert couldn’t fight the smile that resurfaced to his face at his brother’s stubbornness. “Oh,  _ alright _ ,” he agreed with exaggerated resignation, fixing his hair with his fingers. “You can cook if you want.” He watched his brother get to his feet sluggishly through the corner of his eye, and just as he was within reach…

Ludwig yelped as he was pulled back by the shoulders, though it became a laugh as he was pulled into Gilbert’s chest in a tight bear hug. “Never thought I’d see the day!” Gilbert crowed, “My little brother! Cooking breakfast without the help of a maid!” He pushed the hair into Ludwig’s eyes, with a scratchy laugh. “Oh, holy day!” 

Pushing his brother’s hand from his head, Ludwig finally fought himself free. “You look like you’re feeling better,” he said. His smile melted as memories came slowly back, the admission he’d made, what he’d left out, what France might let slip just to hurt him. "Gilbert?" he asked after a long silence. "Are we okay? After what happened yesterday, I mean."

Gilbert hummed thoughtfully. “We’ll build this trust back. It was a mistake you made, and one that you’ll take full responsibility for.” Despite the sternness in his voice, there was a warmth in his eyes. "I’ll let Bismark know of yesterday’s events, and the field marshall and I will figure out a way to keep the French troops away from the safehouse - Oh! You could tell me exactly what other battle plans you disclosed to him, and we could form a counter…” He cut himself off, giving Ludwig a look that told him that he was not entirely off the hook. “Just see this as a learning experience, and be honest with me from now on.” He habitually tried to smooth back his brother’s hair. 

“I understand,” he said. “And I won’t.” Still, forgiveness wasn’t exactly in Gilbert’s nature. “What is my punishment?” He could have kicked himself for bringing it up, but with execution off the table, he’d happily take a beating or a few laps around Sanssouci.

Gilbert blinked at him, as if wondering if he’d heard right. “With all I have to do today, caning you isn’t exactly high on my priority list, Ludwig.” he answered, regarding him with an odd look. He shifted uncomfortably.

The silence that settled between them was cold. Ludwig considered his words carefully. “Gilbert, if there is something you want to ask me, please just ask me. I can't guarantee you'll like the answer, but I'll tell you the truth." Some of it, anyway.

Gilbert crossed his arms, staring at the rays of suns that peeked through the blinds.“I’m still processing everything. Just mentally cataloguing.” He rubbed his face. “You were just behaving oddly before we went to bed. Like there was something you didn’t want me to hear. With everything that’s happened, it seemed… Off.” 

He’d been formulating a response to this, so the lie came out smooth as butter. “The way he was talking about you was disgusting. I didn’t think you’d want to hear it after everything else that happened. And…” He ducked his head, looking bashful now. “I might have said a few choice words back to him. It wasn’t something I wanted you to hear me say.” 

Gilbert couldn’t help the small laugh, petting the back of his brother’s head. “Well, consider this one of the rare times I not only let you off for language, but encourage it.” 

Ludwig yawned again before he could say more and leaned into his brother’s side. “We should go have breakfast now,” he said. But it sounded less like a suggestion and more like a dream for the future. His eyes slid closed even as he tried to stay awake. The sleepless night had finally caught up with him.

“We probably should, shouldn’t we?” Gilbert repeated wryly, resting his chin on the palm of his hand as he watched his little brother’s eyes flutter shut. It was only once he was sure that Ludwig had fallen back asleep did he carefully separate himself from him. Carefully, he cocooned the boy in his blanket to make up for the lack of warmth that would undoubtedly be there when he woke up again. The coolness of his skin had been enough to tell Gilbert that the night hadn't been the kindest to him. After washing yesterday’s blood off himself, he dressed himself in a spare uniform and prepared to head out. Remembering Ludwig’s voiced concerns over breakfast, he tore himself some bread and left the house without a sound, a small smile on his face. 

Ludwig slept through the morning. He only woke when the sun was high in the sky and the blankets beside him were cold with Gilbert’s loss. He sat up and rubbed the crust from his eyes. It took a few moments to orient himself and properly chastise himself. How much did he have to lie to his brother? And how bad would it be when he finally found out? He put that out of his mind and changed his shirt to meet Gilbert for breakfast- or lunch, perhaps, was more accurate. 

Ludwig spotted Gilbert by the front door, sending off a pair of soldiers with a letter to Helmuth von Moltke. Though he rolled his eyes as he shut the door behind himself, Gilbert’s expression brightened just slightly as he heard the sound of Ludwig’s light footsteps walking towards him. “Ah, you’re finally awake,” he noted, clearing a small space at the table, which was otherwise completely covered by maps and letters. “I made you something to eat. We’re running short on food at the moment, so this will do for now.” He set down a hot bowl of stew on the clearing, and without another glance towards Ludwig, continued to review his papers. 

“I’m not complaining.” He sat across from his brother and wolfed down the food that was set out for him. He didn’t have time for the politesse he was expected to display in court, and since it was just him and Gilbert, he didn’t bother. He wanted to get outside as soon as possible, since he’d already wasted a fair amount of daylight. There was a whole forest of trees that needed to be taught to fear his prowess with a sword. With little more than a “goodbye” and a wave, he left the house, only to stop dead in his tracks at what he saw. In front of the door was a single long-stemmed rose. Despite himself, Ludwig blushed. For all his faults, Francis really did have a romantic streak that always managed to turn Ludwig into a pile of mush.

He had just gotten to his favorite patch of forest, where the evidence of his practice sessions lay etched deep into the wood of the trees, when he saw Francis leaning against an oak littered with deep gashes, a lazy smile on his face. "Did you like the rose, amour?" He asked.

Ludwig tried to look indifferent. He shrugged. “It was alright. But I prefer cornflowers. They’re Gilbert’s favorite.” He couldn’t help but smile at the look on Francis’s face.

Francis narrowed his eyes and shoved Ludwig against the tree before he could even take one hack at it, leaning in so close they breathed the same air. He could feel Ludwig's heart pounding against his own chest and smirked. "Do I make you nervous,  _ cher _ _?_" His hand slid down from Ludwig’s hip to his thigh, like Ludwig’s body was his to touch and to claim.

Ludwig’s yelp answered for him. As Francis’ face came closer, he tried to press further into the tree, push Francis away, but it wasn’t enough. Their lips pressed together. His sword hit the dirt. It always came to this with Francis, didn’t it? But, in fairness, Ludwig had been denying him for so long, and he seemed so frustrated… He saw no harm in indulging him just this once.


	3. He Doesn't Love You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternate chapter title: France is a Fucking Creep 2: Electric Boogaloo. Yeah, things get pretty dark in this one, so be warned.
> 
> Chapter Warnings: Implied sexual content, Emotional Abuse, Gaslighting, and pedophilia

Without Ludwig in the house, Prussia found himself with the luxury of giving his duties his utmost attention. The day passed in a frenzy of productivity, Gilbert answering mail to gleefully mapping out a series of positional stages of attack. Accepting an invitation for a strategist meeting was the last task of importance for the day that he had prepared to send off. For all the chaos France had brought upon their house, Gilbert felt satisfied with his calculation of how much hell was to be paid. In high spirits, he’s taken to scavenging mushrooms in the surrounding woodland for supper. 

As the day slowly bled into twilight, he prepared a hearty soup for when Ludwig returned from his day of terrorising the woods. But the sun began to set behind the trees, casting spear-like shadows on the ground, Gilbert found himself shooting frequent glances outside the window with increasing frequency. He tried to pull his mind from Ludwig, reheating an already stone cold dinner, as if expecting his brother to come tearing through the woods at any moment. 

Perhaps Ludwig had gotten lost - No… Not once had he gotten lost before. He was too smart for it. Perhaps he’d fallen and lost consciousness? Or maybe… The hairs on the back of his neck stood to attention. With the location of their safehouse being revealed to France, there was every rational possibility that his soldiers camped out had taken him for a ransom. The mere thought had Gilbert poring over his plans of attack, with the hope of preoccupying himself because maybe, just  _ maybe _ his brother had wandered off a bit too far and fallen asleep under a tree and he was making a fool out of himself. 

It was only once the stars appeared in the sky and dinner was cold once again, that Gilbert pushed hopes and excuses aside and freed himself from fretting inaction. Throwing a coat over his shoulders, he stashed the dagger under his belt and left the safehouse, setting a steady pace into the woods, kerosine lamp in his hands lighting his path. 

If he did not manage to locate his brother within the span of an hour and he hadn’t returned home by that time… His stomach twisted at the very thought of telegraphs and missing notices to the Chancellor. The very memory of his brother’s terrified face from the day before flashed so vividly in his mind that Gilbert almost choked, the picture of those tear-brimmed blue eyes tearing through his lungs. Except this time, in a tent of unforgiving enemy soldiers there would be nobody to forgive him, and… Oh shit. Not only this, but his very reputation would be on the line! In the case that Ludwig was taken, ensuring he’d be returned in one piece would just be another thing that would jeapordize the aim of the war - Bismark would only look at him as an incompetent babysitter and - Oh  _ dammit _ ! 

Coming to a halt, Gilbert placed the lamp on the mossy floor of the forest to cup his hands over his mouth. “Ludwig!” His ears were desperately pricked for so much as the sound of a squirrel in the branches. His heart only sank further at the silence that met the call. 

Ludwig sat bolt upright, shoving France off of him. A litany of curses fell from his lips and he fumbled for his clothes, discarded several feet away. “Go, now! He’ll kill you if he sees-!”

France couldn’t have looked any more pleased with himself. He pulled his trousers up and fastened them, slowly, as if he had all the time in the world. 

“This isn’t a joke, Francis!” Ludwig snapped. “Get your jacket and get the fuck out! What, do you  _ want _ him to see us?” The question hung in the air. France just smiled at him. “You do… You stupid mother-” 

France was quick as a whip, grabbing Ludwig and shoving him against the same tree where this whole debacle had started. “Please. He’d be able to see what you’ve been doing just by looking at you. Shouldn’t he at least know  _ who _ gave you those?” He ran loving fingers over Ludwig’s jaw and throat, where bruises were forming. 

It was all clear to Ludwig now. The way he’d brought him to climax while still wearing his trousers, now stained. The way he’d left bites and hickeys in obvious, visible places. Everything had been calculated so Gilbert would see. The blood drained from his cheeks. “You…” He couldn’t even think of what to call him that would hurt more than he felt himself. Tears welled up in his eyes.

France wiped them from his cheeks. “Now, now, if Gilbert sees you crying, he might get the wrong idea. He might think you didn’t like it.” He smiled and pressed his lips to Ludwig’s throat, shoving a knee between his legs to pin him. “And if those pretty sounds you were making are anything to go off of-”

“Shut up!” It came out like a sob.

The smile on his face chilled Ludwig. “We’re in here, Prussia!”

Ludwig shook his head furiously. "Let me go," he pleaded, trying to push France off of him. "He'll kill you." His heart threatened to burst at the sound of running footsteps, heading straight for the clearing. 

"I am not worried." France looked over his shoulder.

"Oh, hello, Prussia. Care to join?" 

The sound of footsteps ceased, and Ludwig bowed his head. He couldn't look his brother in the eye, not like this. What a sight he must be: His shirt discarded, trousers stained, red and purple marks littering his throat and chest. His lips were kiss-bruised and his hair stuck out in every direction. Tears fell freely down his cheeks.

The handle of the lantern clattered against its posts in Gilbert’s shaking hands, and he entertained the chances of throwing it at the man once he was in close enough proximity, and setting him aflame. Purifying him by fire like he had done too many times before. 

“What…?” Gilbert couldn’t get another word out, bile cutting his sentence in half. He forced himself against every wish to look upon the marks dirtying his brother’s skin, heart pounding in his ears. “What did you do to him?” In the scarce light, shadows played on France’s face, twisting the sly grin on his face into a grotesque caricature of victory. Perspiration pricked at Gilbert’s skin like hundreds of medical needles. “What did you do to him!?” His blood had boiled to foam, and he suddenly felt able to move, mindlessly taking strides toward France, brandishing his dagger wildly. “I’ll kill you! I swear on everything I have, I’ll feed you to hungry dogs - I’ll kill you for fucking good and bury you in the ground to be forgotten, you conniving sick sack of shit!” He barely recognised his own voice as it returned to his ears as an echo. 

France barely even looked at the dagger. “Don’t want to join in then? It wouldn’t be his first  _ ménage à trois  _ and you’d be surprised at how good he is-”

“Francis-”

“I mean, he really is a perfect little slut-”

“ _ Francis _ !” Ludwig looked pathetic and small, but his eyes blazed. Gilbert stopped dead in his tracks. “Enough. You’re just being cruel now.” 

There was a moment where France thought about it, running the back of his hand over Ludwig’s cheek while the boy squirmed and tried to get away. “Well, I suppose if I’m not wanted here, then I’ll be on my way.” He left a sloppy wet kiss on Ludwig’s cheek and sauntered off into the forest, leaving Ludwig collapsed on the ground, shaking.

Gilbert would have run after Francis, had he not known better. Everything seemed far too set up, too calculated, to risk leaving Ludwig for the sake of enacting some minor form of retribution. His muscles felt like knotted rope, and he could do nothing, but stare at France’s back as he walked away. “You’re lucky I’m not stupid enough to leave him alone out here and tear your throat out.” France wouldn’t have been able to hear him, and perhaps that was for the best with how utterly hollow he sounded. His eyes surveyed the clearing, listening for so much as a rustle in the surrounding shrub. God knew that with France’s reaction to Gilbert’s witness, he wouldn’t have been above setting up an ambush. A wave of disgust flooded him afresh at the memory of his words. "Ludwig…What happened?” His question was only met with tears dropping off the edge of his brother’s soft jaw, and nothing more. “What was this?” 

Ludwig’s world was spinning. Everything he’d done was out in the open now. He could lie, say this was the first time, say France had forced him, but the thought of lying further was too much for him. Even so, he didn’t dare look Gilbert in the eyes. He could see the disappointment in his mind’s eye clearly enough, and just the thought of it made him feel ill. “It started when I lived with him,” he said. “As soon as I came to live with you, I stopped. I never let him near me, but he’s been more… insistent lately. This is the first time we’ve-” He couldn’t bring himself to say it. “It’s the first time since I’ve been living with you.” He was half-naked, his bruises and his sins on display for his brother to see. He didn’t cry this time. He didn’t beg for his life. This time, he half wished Gilbert would kill him. At least then he wouldn't have to see how disappointed his brother was in him.

If betrayal was what Gilbert had felt just the day before, it was barely a pinprick compared to what he felt now. Though his breath hitched in his throat, his face remained steady. Lips pursed, he picked up his brother’s shirt in his hands and tossed in haphazardly in his direction. Any hysterics had transcended him, replaced now with incomprehension and hundreds of doubts. Without another word, he turned on his heel and walked away. 

Ludwig pulled the shirt over his head, wincing as it brushed over the scratches on his back where the tree bark had dug into his skin. He collected his sword and followed Gilbert home with his head bowed. Every nasty thing France had said to him in that clearing echoed in his head. He was a slut and a traitor to his brother, a traitor to France. He wasn’t even worthy of the nation he was being given. He was silent until they got home. He stood on the stoop, unsure if he would even be allowed inside. “I’m sorry for lying to you,” he said. “I knew you’d be upset about it, and I didn’t want you to hurt him.” He wrapped his arms around himself. “I love him.” Somehow, that seemed the worst of his crimes. 

He leaned down to look Ludwig eye to eye, feeling like a husk of himself. “You know…” he began, “If he at least loved you back, it would be better even if just for your sake.” Though the words sounded tailored to wound, there was a dangerous sincerity to his them that couldn’t have been imitated. 

The very idea, the nerve that Gilbert would have to make such an accusation, turned Ludwig’s face a livid red. "B-but-!" he protested, following Gilbert inside. "He does love me! He wouldn't have taken care of me for so long if he didn't!" But even knowing that, his conviction faltered. France could be cruel, and after tonight he wasn’t sure what the truth was. But he had to believe it, or else what had he sacrificed and lied and betrayed for? "Why would you think he doesn't?"

Shutting the door behind Ludwig, Gilbert failed to stifle a humourless laugh . “Oh, please. I don’t even know where to begin.” He snuffed the lantern. “Let’s start here - If France truly cares about you, would he have called out to me?” Something in Ludwig’s expression shattered, bringing on an unwelcome satisfaction. “Would he have just left you on display for me? Your brother of all people?” His eyes were trained on nothing but Ludwig, floundering for an explanation. “No.” Gilbert cut him off before he would do so much as form a word, smiling almost nastily. “He humiliated you to sate his own sick whims, and that’s all there is to it!” He willed the smile to rot itself off his face, but emotions had caught up to him far too quickly and sunk their fingers into the corners of his mouth. “I mean, really now, you know better - Does that sound like something lovers do!?” 

“It was my own fault,” he said. “I left him. He gave me everything. He took care of me, and all he asked of me was loyalty… And I left him to stay with you. Of course he’s angry. He would never hurt me.”  _ But he did _ . He shook aside the thought. “That shows he cares about me, right? He loves me, and he wants me to himself.” He wiped his eyes furiously. He couldn’t cry now.

Sighing frustratedly, Gilbert crouched down to meet him eye to eye. “Ludwig. If he wanted you to himself, he could’ve fought me right then and there. I’m injured, and he could’ve easily won and taken you back with him.” His thumb wiped a stray tear on his brother’s bottom lash before he pulled his hands away. “You do understand why he didn’t though, right?” 

They both knew. Gilbert could see it on his brother’s face, that he understood. But that didn’t stop Gilbert from pressing on the bruise. “It’s so he could ruin whatever little trust I have left in you, and laugh from afar as he watches everything fall to shit - The war, our trust in one another, everything.” For a moment, he almost looked sorry to say it, making a move to reach out once more. 

But Ludwig wasn’t having it for a second. He faltered a little, but his voice was thick with conviction when he snapped, “Maybe you’re the one who’s lying!” That was the truth, wasn’t it? “You just want me to think he’s lying so you can win this war, don’t you?” Of course. France had warned him of Gilbert’s craftiness, and he’d been naive enough to trust him, to love him as a brother. He saw it now, that Gilbert just wanted to use him. “I mean, can you tell me honestly that you have no ulterior motives for keeping me with you? It doesn’t benefit you at all to have me?”

“Of course it benefits me!” Gilbert snapped, standing to his full height, “If you didn’t benefit anyone, nobody would be fighting this war to begin with.” Gilbert stared at him through slivers, placing his dagger on top of the shelf Ludwig always had such trouble reaching. “But, the difference between France and myself is that I tell you the truth, no matter how hard it might be for you to hear.” He dusted his hands off, giving Ludwig a withering stare. “I’m not going to argue my point further, because I can tell you’re not going to hear a word of it - But I will give you one final word of warning!” The words spilled from his lips like the bile he’d mustered back, before he could stop himself. “You ought to consider yourself lucky that you never told me  _ his  _ battle strategies. Because had that been the case, you'd still be laying against that tree with your innards all over yourself instead of your own goddamn -" 

Gilbert’s heart almost gave out as soon as his mouth caught up with his brain, cutting off his words as if he’d been shot. The silence that ensued felt thick enough to drown in. He’d gone too far. Even Ludwig seemed slightly taken aback. 

“I’m going to run a bath,” he announced, just before hastily excusing himself. The tips of Gilbert’s ears felt as if someone had pressed a hot iron to them. 

Ludwig’s face was burning. He itched to keep the fight going, to prove Gilbert wrong, but the outside didn’t look like a very inviting bedroom. He waited for Gilbert to fill the tub and stripped himself, wincing as lukewarm water touched his back. He washed himself under Gilbert's watchful eye in total silence. But a question was burning in his mind that he couldn’t keep to himself any longer. "What will you do if you’re wrong?" he asked. "What if France really does love me?" 

“What do you think? Beat him until he suffers a brain injury and falls out of love with you?” His tone was curt, despite his wishful thinking. “I’d accept that I was wrong, and move on with my life.” The words felt wrong in his mouth, but Gilbert didn’t fixate further on them. 

Once Ludwig was clean, dry, and dressed in a nightshirt, he lit a candle and grabbed a book from their small library. He went outside and settled on the porch, flipping through the book and not taking in a single word. He’d been outside for maybe an hour when he saw a familiar figure approaching the house. Ludwig stood. “You shouldn’t be here.”

France at least had the decency to look ashamed. “I know, but I wanted to apologize. I was angry, and I just wanted to hurt him. I should have known that it would hurt you too. You didn’t want him to see you like that, and I exposed you.” He leaned down to kiss him, but Ludwig pushed him away.

“You don’t really love me, do you?”

“What?” France actually looked scandalized at the suggestion. “Why would you say that? Of course I love you.”

Ludwig pressed his lips together. “Gilbert says you’re just manipulating me.” 

He didn’t see the flash of annoyance in France’s eyes. “And do you believe him?”

“I’m not sure. You’d both have reason to lie to me. The scattered German states are paramount to the victory of this war. Whoever I side with, if I can keep my other siblings in line, will win. You want me to switch sides, and Gilbert wants me to stick with him.”

“I only want your love,” France insisted. “The war means nothing. I only want you.” His words were soft, but his face couldn't be read. "I swear to you, I have never been so in love with another person in my life. Please, let me prove it to you." He kissed Ludwig again, making a move to deepen the kiss before Ludwig pushed him away.

“Not tonight,” he said. “Not anymore. I need to keep my head on straight.” He should say something, try to make him understand the situation he was in, but he couldn't think of anything, and finally just said, "I promised that I wouldn't speak to you again until the war is over. You're his enemy." 

“But am I yours?”

Ludwig looked away. “You have to be. Goodnight, Francis.” He turned and went inside without another word. If he could have seen the look on France’s face when the door slammed in it, he would have known then and there that he’d made the right choice.

As it was, though, he mourned the loss as he made his way to the bedroom, wondering if he’d lost his first love forever.

Ludwig climbed into bed, trying to be as quiet as possible, but it seemed it hadn't worked. Gilbert’s red eye had cracked open at the very creak of the door opening. "Sorry," Ludwig murmured as he cuddled into Gilbert's warmth.

Pulled from the line between consciousness and rest, Gilbert pulled the sheets over his brother. "Don't be." His fears of Ludwig running headfirst into the forest and every danger that resided within were finally cast aside with his presence. "I couldn't get to sleep anyway." Though exhaustion weighed his limbs, Gilbert was careful to not touch the graze between his little brother’s shoulders as he placed his arm over him. 

Ludwig decided not to say anything about France showing up, and leaned his head on his brother's chest. His hands trailed down to brush across the line of stitches. "You're healing really well," he said. "I can probably remove them tomorrow." He fell silent after that, letting sleep take him. Even his guilt and sadness wasn't enough to keep him awake tonight.


	4. A Bitter End, A New Beginning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's up, Friday upload? We realized way too late that we hadn't finished our edits on this chapter, but this should be worth the wait.
> 
> Chapter Warnings: Mild gore, mention of character death

_ 1871 _

The end of wars was always a strange juxtaposition. Always more so on the side of victory. It was almost always quiet. Truthful retellings always seemed to have had an anti climatic effect on those who Gilbert detailed his victories to, which only gave him further incentive to embellish his tales of Greek-like heroism. People just seemed to like those versions better. 

Of course, upon his return and the announcement of victory, there would be celebrations spilling out from taverns into the dimly lit streets with enough mulled wine, fresh baked bread, and beer to feed all of Europe. There would be statues carved, and paintings commissioned, and the world would carry on as usual. 

However, it was never easier to envision the glow of a country, with the fresh smell of gunpowder in the air, and the sight of stiff limbs hanging out of wagons to be left in shallow graves. 

A telegram had detailed that the siege of Paris had been successful, but Prussia had raised his soldiers to be anything if not thorough in ensuring complete and absolute success.    
Over the ringing in his ears, Gilbert faintly picked up the pleas of a man, begging for his life in French before a gunshot from the West cast silence over the field again. 

Should’ve been the last one. 

Wiping the dirt off his cheek, Gilbert strapped his bayonet over his shoulder and prepared to leave. His work here appeared to have been done. 

As he walked, he almost failed to notice the shaking mass on the ground, until the wheeze that came from it made him stiffen. 

France lay broken on the ground, choking around the blood in his mouth just to get breath. He was emaciated from months of siege, eyes glassy and skin pale. He shifted to get his limbs under him, rolled onto all fours, spit blood in the dirt in front of him. When he saw cold red eyes narrowed in his direction, he stood, arms up in surrender. “I’m done,” he said. “It’s over I just want…” He could have begged for anything, for mercy, for aid in rebuilding, but he knew what he needed to do. “I want to see Ludwig. The war is over, old friend, and he promised me I could see him.”

“Are you making demands, old friend?” Prussia answered, appearing nothing short of the epitome of self satisfaction. “You should know that you’re not in any place to be making them if such is the case.” Straightening his back, he adjusted the strap of his bayonet that had begun to dig into his shoulder. “But if you’re so desperate to see him, rather than go back to your own, you better be ready to crawl your way there.” Without extending a hand to Francis, Gilbert gestured for him to follow as he began his trek back to the safehouse. France followed, a stumble in his step.

They walked for nearly an hour before Prussia spoke. "Did you love him? Truly, did you?" 

He only laughed. “You aren’t that stupid, Gilbert. I loved his loyalty, and he certainly wasn’t a bad lay.” He stepped back to avoid a blow to his face, but it never came. “He loves me, though, and I think it’s only fair to him that I say goodbye. Poor thing will pine for me if he doesn't at least get that. He's far more sensitive than you. And I'm not so cruel as all that, to let him spend his formative years in such pain. Especially when it gets me nothing."

Gilbert snorted, rolling his eyes as he accompanied Francis over the last hill. From a distance he spotted the faint shape of Ludwig, waiting on the porch. “You flatter yourself too much.” 

Ludwig looked up from the book he was pretending to read when he saw his brother returning with a limping figure a few steps behind him. He raced out to greet them, but stopped dead when he saw who the figure was. “What is he doing here?” he demanded. “What happened?

Gilbert shrugged, giving France a light kick to the back of the shin, just as he was about to drag himself over the finish line. “I let him slow me down on the way here,” he explained simply, grinning as France got to his feet again. “Perhaps, it might’ve had something to do with you keeping your promise about not seeing him until the end of the war?” His eyes twinkled. 

Ludwig didn’t have time to register what that meant before France pulled him into a hug. He yelped, but melted into the embrace with a smile. “I missed you,” he whispered.

France’s face was unreadable, void of emotion. But Ludwig couldn’t see it, so the tight hug and the affectionate mumbled French felt real enough.

Ludwig looked over France’s shoulder at his brother, smiling with tears in his eyes. "Thank you."

A strange feeling of being a neutral observer to something so false crawled up Gilbert’s spine, despite the resolutionary scene that played out in front of him. The contrast of happiness on Ludwig’s face, with the unreadable calculation on France’s drilled a hole in his stomach. “Now…” his voice faltered awkwardly, and he cleared his throat. “If you’re both done here, France needs his injuries mended.” He gave the man an accusing look. “By me.” 

If Ludwig noticed the uncomfortable look on Gilbert's face, he didn’t say anything. He released France and nodded. "Of course," he said. "Go ahead." He looked down at the crimson stain that turned brown in the deep blue of France’s uniform and grimaced.

France followed Gilbert to the same bedroom where Ludwig had cared for him once, and given France hope that he might have the scattered German states under his thumb, with Ludwig’s loyalty.  _ Probably best not to bring that up _ , he thought. “Thank you,” he said. “Truth be told, I didn’t think you would bring me here.”

Gilbert’s repulsion was clear, even over the sound of him rummaging through his first aid kit. "I shouldn't have." He placed it beside France, taking a seat on the edge of the bed. "But you're here to tell him goodbye. From here, you stay away from him, or I finish the job I started." 

He looked forlorn about that for a moment, but the look slid off his face too easily as he pulled off his coat and shirt. “If those are the terms I must agree to.” He looked down at the wound in his gut. “Very clean,” he said. He sat and watched Gilbert work in silence until it bored him. “Remember how we used to do this after every battle for each other? It’s been a while since we were on the same side of any war, but I remember, no matter who the enemy was, we would sit together and patch each other up after battles. We did that same with Spain, and with Holy Rome.” His breath caught in his throat. Panic rose in his stomach.  _ Too far. _ It was the one thing Gilbert would never forgive him for: his baby brother’s death.

A tremor emerged in his hand, and the needle’s aim was lost. If it were possible, Gilbert would’ve thrown holy water at the memory, brought on only by the name of his baby brother. Disregarding any care that would’ve gone into stitching an open wound, Gilbert steadied his hand and jabbed into France’s skin with the tenderness of a tailor striking a stray needle into a pincushion. France’s body seized with a hiss. “Sorry.” Gilbert’s expression held no apology in spite of his words, and certainly not afterwards as he continued his work. 

Skin was pulled taut with the thread, a slow, methodical stitch from top to bottom of the slash. In a smooth motion, the thread was tied off and cut. France cleared his throat. “Thank you.”

Ludwig, meanwhile, had been packing his bags, ready for his journey the next morning to Berlin, a single capital where he’d once had hundreds. He knocked on the bedroom door. "Brother?" he called. "Would you like me to pack for you?"

“That would be good,” Gilbert answered as be disinfected the needle.

"Pack?" Francis asked. His eyes darkened. "Right. I suppose you’ve united the separate states, haven’t you? He’s a single country now.” He looked down. “He’ll need a name, and I doubt “New Prussia” will please anyone. What are you going to name him?”

Gilbert at least had the civility in him to feign offence. “As wonderful as that name is, there’s only ever going to be one of me.” He pushed his hair out of his face with a smile. Between the war efforts, the thought of doing so much as even deciding a name for Ludwig hadn’t even crossed his mind. The suddenness of it all seemed to have hit him all at once. “We’ll decide on one once we get home.” As if the despondency from France had been contagious, his enthusiasm settled. There was only the sound of Ludwig’s pattering steps around the cottage, and the tense silence that hung over them. "But… Knowing him, he's going to miss you, no matter what you say to him.” He adjusted his uniform, uncomfortable. “You know what he's like.” 

France’s lips turned up in a fond smile. “I know. He’s always been sentimental like that. But if I know you as well as I think I do, you’ll rid him of that within a few years and he’ll be perfectly stoic. No room to be soft.”

"If I can help it, he'll at least have none for you."

France shrugged. "You don’t have to worry about that. I'm not so selfish to want his love after I've ceased having any use for it." Gilbert briefly wondered if Ludwig would notice a missing tooth in that smug, self assured smile. France didn’t seem bothered by his anger. Maybe he was just stupid, but he had to wonder if he could poke the bear a little bit. "He's gotten bigger, too, over the past year. He's nearly as tall as I am now," he said. "He'll overtake you as well soon enough, if he keeps growing this fast. Good luck controlling him then." He was watching Gilbert now, gauging his reaction.

"I don’t need luck-” But France had started speaking again, cutting his train of thought to a screeching halt.

"Of course, Ludwig has always held a deep respect for you. Even living with me, he knew you by reputation, and he admired you. Certainly a few inches height difference won’t make a difference." He didn’t sound entirely sincere. 

Had Ludwig not been in the next room packing their bags, Gilbert would’ve thrown himself at France for the very tone in his voice. For giving Ludwig false hope. For even uttering the name of Holy Rome - Having the audacity of being so ungrateful after having been stitched together by the very hands that had torn him apart. 

Gilbert’s chest raised with a series of deep breaths as he stared him down. He could still hurt him, and yet... “I hope you realise, I don’t need to hear that from you.” His expression was sour, though his lip was turned up snidely. “He’s in good hands now, and I intend to keep him in them, lest he ever make the same childish mistake of playing into yours again.” Not wanting to waste another moment on satisfying France’s schadenfreude, he withdrew a light breath and turned his back. He didn’t have another moment to waste. “Anyhow. I suggest you leave and get started on your reparations.” Gilbert advised over his shoulder as he rummaged through his belongings. “I’m sure you’re going to be very busy.” He smiled as he threw his trunk on the bed, just narrowly missing Francis. Two pairs of hard eyes met, refusing to let go of one another. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have an empire to piece together.” 

Too used to Gilbert’s boasting, France rolled his eyes. “I’m sure.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Well, I should probably go. I do wish you both the best.” He pulled on his bloodied uniform, but didn’t bother buttoning it. 

As he passed the living room, he caught Ludwig, who looked up from the trunk he was packing with clothes from an open armoire and smiled. “Are you feeling better now?”

France nodded. “I am. And I really should get going.”

Ludwig’s smile faltered. “But you’re supposed to come to Berlin with us and surrender officially, aren’t you?” He’d been looking forward to a few days on the road with France, and some time in the palace with him.

Feeling the eyes boring into the back of him, France shook his head. “No,  _ cher. _ My officials would rather do that for me, so I need to return to Paris and work on rebuilding.” He kissed Ludwig’s cheek, hardly needing to bend anymore. “And, as hard as it is to say, we need to end this. Enemies or not, the life of a Nation leaves little room for international ties. A relationship where our love is constantly tested and strained by our responsibilities isn’t healthy. It will only hurt you.”

Ludwig’s protest died before it could reach his lips. Trying to keep their relationship going had nearly cost Prussia the war, and Ludwig a nation. He couldn’t afford distractions. “So it’s over?”

"It's over.  _ Au 'voir, cher. _ I'll miss you." He did a good impression at a lovelorn expression, if he did say so himself. If nothing else, Ludwig seemed to buy it.

" _ Au 'voir _ ," Ludwig said softly, biting back tears. And he stood silently, trying not to cry, as France walked out the door and the house was cloaked in silence. Part of him, a too-insistent voice in his head, pulled at him. He should run after France and go with him, shouldn’t he? France had loved him and cared for him. Prussia had won the war, yes, but that wouldn’t stop a revolution if he willed it. He wouldn’t get any backup from his siblings, though. Not even those who wanted independence would settle for French rulership over Prussian. Still, he might manage to get a few wayward states on his side. He could get them together, form a new nation that was no longer loyal to Prussia- 

Gilbert placed a hand on his shoulder, and the tight coil in his heart almost tore with the strength it took to hold himself together.  _ A good German doesn’t cry. _ How many times had Gilbert drilled it into his head? Yet despite his brother’s teachings, his tears were close to falling. Was winning the war even worth it? He’d known deep down that he couldn’t stay with France, but even so, losing him hurt more than he’d ever thought it would. From afar he looked the epitome of stoicism and composure, but his eyes shone and his hands shook in fists at his side. He cleared his throat. “We should go to bed.” His voice wavered only the slightest bit. “We have a long journey tomorrow.” 


	5. Nightmares

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're back from hiatus! Dealing with life kind of pushes these things to the backburner, but here we are, out with another chapter!
> 
> Chapter Warnings: Gore

All Ludwig wanted to do was go back to sleep. The light was stabbing his eyes, but he still tried once or twice to roll over, cover his head, and get a few more minutes in. “Do we have to leave now?” he asked. He most certainly did  _ not _ whine, thank you very much, but he might have sounded less than enthused about the prospect of walking from Westphalia back to Berlin.

“The sun’s in the sky, and it’s best we make use of it,” Gilbert stated sternly, brushing his fingers through his bedhead. 

It took everything in him not to grouse and pout, but he rolled out of bed and, still with half-lidded eyes, washed his face in the basin and tugged on his clothes. 

Gilbert went through his usual routine of getting dressed and ready for the day ahead. As he waited for Ludwig to leave the bathroom, he opened the pantry and gleaned a red shiny apple from it. He wandered around the bare cottage for a while, polishing the apple against his sleeve as he waited.

Ludwig was out minutes later with his hair sticking out in all directions, but at least he was awake. He took the apple, grabbed his pack and slung it over his shoulders, eyes traversing the cottage that had been his home for nearly a year. “What’s on the agenda when we get home?” he asked, as if the question had just come to mind and hadn’t been gnawing at him for days. “I’m meant to be my own country now, aren’t I?” The states had stopped warring amongst themselves to beat back France, united against a common enemy, and while he wasn’t sure he liked the reason, he was glad not to be faint and ill any time his brothers and sisters got into a shouting match.

"Yes. And not only that, but the figurehead of the Empire." Gilbert began, eyes set past the horizon where his last battle had taken place with France. "I mean, even the previous German confederation that Austria's congress made is going to be a part of it.” 

_ An empire. _ The words made his chest swell, a proud smile on his face. “You said you’d become part of it, didn’t you?” The idea of leading an empire was foreign enough to him, but Gilbert’s subordination was unthinkable. He couldn’t fool himself. He knew he would be the one taking orders.

“Of course!” Gilbert bumped shoulders as they walked. He felt more certain of his words than he’d been in months. "And you’re going to be a part of this too."

The smile faded from Ludwig’s face. “How am I supposed to do that? You’ve taught me plenty about fighting, but I have no idea how to run a country. I barely know how my own government works, and I'm expected to lead this empire into success and glory?"

Gilbert opened his mouth to say something, and promptly closed it and if his tongue had suddenly been sewn to the roof of his mouth. "Right..." he enunciated slowly. "Of course… You don’t.” He collected his thoughts carefully. “After all, running an empire for the first time is foreign territory in and of itself for a country, let alone…” he gestured vaguely at Ludwig with a slight wince. The uncertainty in his brother’s eyes was paralysing. 

“I’m…” His footsteps slowed to a stop. 

_ I’m sorry. I could’ve made more time for you, instead of sending you off into the woods for survival training just so I’d have the house to myself. Could’ve left you back home, and had someone tutor you - Hell, even done it myself in my spare time instead of finding ways to enact petty revenge on France, unrelated to the war efforts. It’s no wonder you turned to him for company.  _

Gilbert almost knelt down out of the desire to console him, as he’d done countless times before. But the boy had truly shot up like a poplar between the start of the war and the end. And so, locking his words, Gilbert settled for placing a hand on his brother’s shoulder. 

“I promise you, that once we set up everything back home, I’ll teach you everything you need to know,” he started, guiding him forward as his feet picked up pace again. “I’ll tutor you - Personally even! Maybe even appoint you your own responsibilities, so you can at least see how it’s all done - Doesn’t that sound good?” His eyes hopefully searched Ludwig’s for so much as a sign of reassurance. 

It sounded familiar: given the tools to teach himself and left to find his own way. Ludwig had learned to fight that way, and to hunt. It had worked those times, but he couldn’t help but think of his first marksmanship lesson, when he’d accidentally shot himself in the stomach. “I’m a bit nervous,” Ludwig admitted. He’d never been his own country before. There was the German Confederation with Prussia and Austria fifty years ago, and the Confederation du Rhine under France before that, but that wasn’t really… him. He’d been subject to the whims of whatever stronger country had taken charge. “But I’ll be fine, as long as you’re there to help me. I trust you.”

Contented with Ludwig’s reaction, Gilbert dropped his hand. “Of course,” he ruffled the younger’s hair. “You’re a quick learner, and I’m a great teacher - That makes us an unstoppable force, you know...” he trailed off as soon as the smell of gunpowder hit his nose. His shoulders rose with tension as soon as his eyes fell on a couple of disposal wagons. Shouldn’t have they already been done with it all? 

“Are you okay?” Ludwig reached for Gilbert’s hand.

“I couldn’t be better.” Gilbert answered shortly, continuing on with an unfaltering march. He lifted his gaze to the horizon and carried his way onwards, even as his foot collided with something pliant and fleshy. “Especially when the sky is a nice colour today.” His stomach turned uneasily as he stepped over the mass. The back of his eyes burned from the sun, as it emerged from behind a cloud. “I just get tired of seeing the same thing too many times, you know.” His pupils were pinpricks. “And there’s something different about the sky today.” 

"I noticed it too," Ludwig said gravely, hopping over the corpse as easily as he would an errant log. "But it's over now, right?" 

Gilbert only gave a nod. Had he not known better, he would’ve sworn that he felt a hundred pairs of sightless eyes drilling a hole into the back of his neck as they both disappeared into the forest. 

Time’s arrow only marched forward as they did, taking in the beauty of the forest and fields they passed in idle chatter. They didn't stop until well into the evening, when the sun had sunk low in the sky. With no prospects of a nearby village or town to stay in overnight as they normally would’ve, they dropped their bags. “We should find a place to stay before it gets too dark,” Gilbert announced, glancing around the clearing they found themselves in. “We’ll set up camp here.” 

As twilight faded into darkness, the pair worked diligently with the light of their lantern to guide them. It was only once the final pegs were secured did they rest. “Will these be fine for you?” Gilbert asked, presenting his brother with a makeshift pillow made of clothes. 

Ludwig nodded as he crawled inside the tent, closing off the entrance. They’d had worse accomodations before. He lay down and wrapped himself in the quilt they’d brought, making room for Gilbert to share the quilt. Worn out from the long walk, he was in no mood to talk. As Ludwig’s breaths deepened and slowed, Gilbert occupied his hands by carding his fingers through his brother’s hair. Consciousness slipped from before he even noticed, the last thing on his mind being the sound of trees creaking in the wind that he tried to not mistake for broken branches underfoot. 

Despite his brother's worries, Ludwig slept without a care in the world. He was safe while Gilbert was here. In this, he was certain.

But the dangers that found him that night weren’t from outside the tent- they were spawned from his own brain. His citizens surrounded him, a countless mass of faceless men and women, grey-skinned and bloodied. They lay mangled and twisted on the ground beneath him. He couldn’t remember how it had happened, what had killed them, but he knew beyond anything else that it was his fault. “What-?” He looked up from the sea of corpses at a white-faced Gilbert, eyes wide and afraid. His chest was a mess of blood and viscera. Ludwig rushed forward to help, but Gilbert ran back with his hand over the hole in his chest. On a whim, Ludwig looked down at his hands. Gilbert’s heart still beat steadily in his fingers, blood dripping down his wrist and arm. His mouth opened in a wordless scream. His eyes snapped open-

And there was Gilbert, arms locked around him, still breathing, still whole. Ludwig’s breath came in heavy gasps, tears pouring down his face. He tried to silence himself, but his sobs tore from his throat and shattered the quiet of the woods. Gilbert’s words barely processed in his mind over the sound of his own crying -  _ “What happened!?”  _

The only thought Ludwig had was pouring from his lips before he could stop them. He didn’t even answer the question, just trembled and whimpered, “I don’t want to be a nation! I d-don’t want to hurt them!” All the work they’d done to get him here was a moot point. He couldn’t get that marksmanship lesson out of his head, when he’d been trying to load the gun and accidentally pulled the trigger. The pellet ricocheted off a wall and hit him in the gut. But this time, it wouldn’t just be him bleeding if he messed this up. He was meant to play chess with his citizen’s lives on the line, and he didn’t even know rook from knight.

“Don’t want to hurt who!?” It had all caught up to him now, that much was clear. The months spent at war, the bodies in the fields, and the shallow graves they were buried in - The pressures of becoming a collective. And it had manifested in one heart, all at once. 

Ludwig forced his breathing to slow and for the first time managed a coherent thought. “I killed them- I will kill them,” he corrected. He was staring straight ahead into the dark, and it looked like his future. “I don’t know what I’m doing… They’re all dead because of me…”

In the dark of the tent, Gilbert couldn’t have seen his hand in front of his eyes, let alone his brother’s face. He felt an odd gratitude about the fact. As if it were perhaps for the best, that they couldn’t see each other. There was a smarting on the surface of his cheeks, as if all the blood in his face had just coursed into his stomach as a heavy weight with realisation. 

They were just two people in a tent, with nothing each could say to the other. Whether it was the uncertain hour of night playing tricks on Gilbert, it felt as if the world tapered off at just a small perimeter around their tent. And if one of them were to leave the safety of it, and wander off just a little too far in any direction of the forest, they would fall off the side of the earth and be swallowed by nothingness. Just as the ones who had failed before them, left to be forgotten in dusty corners of libraries. 

The sound of something flapping its wings over their tent broke their silence and brought Gilbert’s mind back to reality. 

His hand reached out blindly in the nothingness, finding a disembodied shoulder. His grip tightened as if it were the only thing left of his brother. “I’ll tell you something, Ludwig.” Though his fingers searched to wipe tears off a damp cheek, they misstepped and landed over his brother’s mouth. Close enough. “If you keep that fear so close to you, you will never be capable of killing someone." Ludwig’s lip quivered under his palm, a minuscule speck of unknown light catching on his watering eyes. “And that's not a good thing. Not for people like us."

Ludwig’s hands felt sticky with blood, but he couldn’t wipe them clean no matter how he tried. He just kept staring through the impenetrable darkness at his hands with a stifled sob in his throat. ”I can’t defend them,” he croaked. “I can’t even keep my own nightmares away- I can’t even defend myself!”

Normally, such talk would’ve been rewarded with a smack upside the head and chastising from Gilbert, but in its place there was an uncharacteristic calm. "That is why I'm going to be there to help you, until you become strong enough to win your battles.” The calculation and ease in his voice, almost unsettled Ludwig. “Whichever ones they might be."

Though he still didn’t quite buy into that, Ludwig forced himself to calm down. Gilbert would always protect him, he knew, but when worse came to worst, would he be strong enough? “I’m just… so scared.” All at once, his rapid growth didn’t matter. He still felt small. He wrapped his arms tight around Gilbert and bit down hard on his lip to mask his sobs.

"I know, I know..." Gilbert’s face rested against the crown of his head, arms holding him near and safe. "I felt the same when I was your age.” 

_ When I was your age. _ They never talked about when Gilbert was his age. He was regaled over and over with stories of his exploits as the Teutonic Knights, but the time before that, the time of Baltic Prussia, was hidden in journals that Ludwig was never allowed to touch. He could just about sense the hesitance on Gilbert. “We don’t have to talk about it, if you don’t want to,” he said, not really meaning a word of it. He could feel Gilbert’s cheeks lift with a smile. 

“Not too much. Wouldn't want you to have another nightmare now, would I?" 

All Ludwig knew was the history. It was all Gilbert had ever allowed him to know. He knew that Poland was out to avenge the death of an ambassador, but he didn’t know the full horror of an invasion. He knew that the Knights’ Templar was trying to Christianize him, but he didn’t understand the pain that was watching every single citizen slaughtered and every god destroyed. All he knew was that Gilbert was unbreakable. “You were scared?” he prompted.

“Only within reason.” Gilbert hummed, closing his eyes, as if it would make any difference to the complete lack of light in their tent. “Looking the way I do, I avoided the company of people to avoid persecution.” A small huff blew Ludwig’s hair away from his face. “I would’ve been a hermit had I not been living with someone like us at the time. But we had no understanding of how people like ourselves… Operate.” He lay down again, as he heard Ludwig settle in amongst the covers. “The world started to change, as it does, and I didn’t. I had no official army. No lines of defence. No political leaders or negotiators. I never stood a chance against being Christianised.” 

There were dozens of questions bubbling in Ludwig’s chest, aching to be blurted out. Why did Gilbert talk of his conversion with that sour tone in his voice when he was now one of the strictest Catholics Ludwig had ever known? The warmongering and murders notwithstanding, of course. Who had he been living with? How had his people dared lay a finger on him without being torched for such insolence, akin to blasphemy? He held his tongue, though, and let Gilbert continue. 

He didn’t for what seemed hours, though. They stewed in silence, and Ludwig nearly drifted off again before Gilbert spoke. “I lived through what I’ve lived through, so that you have the tools to become something greater than myself. Trust me on this.” 

Ludwig swallowed a lump in his throat. “But what if I do mess up?” His fingers curled tight in Gilbert’s shirt.

"Then I’ll help you make things right again.” The answer was as simple and honest as they came. “As long as I’m here, I can help you.” 

A yawn cut off any further questions, and Ludwig hummed, eyes too heavy to keep open. “I suppose.”

Gilbert shrugged, the fatigue spreading through his entire body and blurring his thoughts. “Get some sleep.” Automatically he brought Ludwig closer to himself, exhaustion creating the illusion of what little he could see of his brother disappearing, little spots of unconsciousness devouring him away. 


	6. Disrespect

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know, I think we get a pass on being a few days late for this upload seeing as Wednesday was Christmas, but either way, here ya go! Hope you guys had a great holiday.
> 
> Chapter Warnings: Very mild animal gore. Honestly if you got through the first chapter you probably won't even notice.

Gilbert's mind began to emerge from his shallow sleep and he shifted, listening to the sound of the early morning. Nearby he could hear a couple of birds chirping in the canopy of trees above them, Ludwig's sleep addled grumbling, followed shortly by the soft rustling of fabric. "You awake?"

Face scrunched up so tight it looked as if he’d eaten a lemon, Ludwig groaned. “Unfortunately.” He rolled onto his back, rubbing his eyes. “We should get up.” He made no move to do any such thing.

Gilbert made a noise of agreement as he stretched. "What’s the time?"

Ludwig pushed himself up to sit. “No idea.” He reached for the tent flap and pulled it aside, Gilbert hissing and throwing his arms over his face as the sunlight flooded in. “It’s late,” Ludwig continued, lips pursed. “We should have left hours ago.”

Blindly smacking the tent fold shut, Gilbert reluctantly got to his feet. The need to eat overshadowed any need to rest. "Hungry yet?"

Ludwig only gave a shrug and a jaw-popping yawn as Gilbert rummaged through his coat pockets. "Yeah, a little bit. I didn't see you pack food, though. Did you?"

"Only a little, but it won't be enough." Frowning, Gilbert dropped a small pouch of cracked walnuts on Ludwig’s lap. 

They both regarded the small pouch sourly, Gilbert tapping his finger against his mouth before his face lit up like he'd been struck with the answers to life and humanity's purpose. “How about we go hunting? It's been a while since I've let you come with me after all!” he decided, rummaging through their belongings before finding exactly what he was looking for. “Aha!” He brandished a hunting knife up victoriously. 

Ludwig looked apprehensive. The last time he'd thrown a knife, he'd nearly taken Gilbert's head off. (“Don't worry,” Austria had said, “he needed a haircut anyway.”) 

Sensing the hesitation on Ludwig’s end, Gilbert lowered his hand dejectedly. "Or... If you want, you can just watch as I do it." He twirled the knife in between his fingers, the gesture coming to him naturally, and not even requiring a glance. "But you’re going to have to learn one day.” 

Ludwig watched the knife dance between Gilbert’s fingers, sunlight glinting off the blade. "I’ll just watch," he said, just as Gilbert sheathed the blade. 

“Good!” he clapped his hands decidedly. “Now! Let's get moving. The quicker the better."

Though Ludwig would have liked to change, there was no point in sweating through another set of fresh clothes, so he just tied on his boots and went to wash his face in a creek. He might have stayed there a tad longer than was necessary, slicking back his wild hair. Gilbert hated when he looked so unkempt. The memories of his nightmare and his breakdown were all too fresh in his mind as he readied himself. Should he say something about it or pretend it never happened? 

He had time enough to consider this as Gilbert started into the thicker woods. There was no talking while Gilbert hunted. Ludwig was only meant to keep an eye out for game. He stayed silent, keeping an eye on the woods as Gilbert dug his heels into the ground to keep a trail. 

Had he not been paying attention like he was, he wouldn't have seen the fat rabbit that was hidden in the tall grass. He nudged Gilbert and pointed in that direction.

Gilbert had to squint to notice the two long ears camouflaged against the canopy of the forest floor. Thank God for Ludwig’s keen eyes. “Good job,” he whispered, clapping his shoulder just gently enough not to startle the game.

Ludwig tried to hide how the praise made his chest swell and cheeks burn.

Taking ahold of his hunting knife, Gilbert took a deep breath as he decisively aimed at the partially hidden animal, and promptly let go of the handle. 

The knife struck the rabbit with deadly accuracy. Ludwig’s eyes shone with delight as he looked up at his brother. Gilbert looked very pleased with himself, indeed. Ludwig ran out to collect the kill and brought it back with a smile on his face. 

Ruffling Ludwig’s hair, Gilbert took the knife out of his brother’s hands. “Not too shabby for your big brother, huh?” he smiled, wiping the blood off the blade with a spare handkerchief. “Impressive, even?”

"Very impressive," Ludwig replied. He made sure to roll his eyes so Gilbert couldn’t see that he meant it. "I’ll skin it for you when we get back to camp," he offered. 

"Oh, you’re so helpful!" Gilbert crowed as they walked back in the direction of their campsite. “Keep your eyes open for anything else though.” 

“Yes, sir.” Ludwig stayed at Gilbert’s heels and kept a sharp eye out, but they didn’t see any other game. A small meal was better than none, though, so they went back to camp and Ludwig set about skinning the animal.

Ludwig tried to ignore how his bloody hands called back his nightmare. He wiped them off on a dirty rag and tried not to break down when he saw that his skin was stained red. Soft steps came up behind him, and he set aside the rag, looked over his shoulder. “The organs are in that bowl there,” he said, gesturing. “The liver was clean, so I’ll cook it for you if you want it. He made quick work of building a fire and setting up a spit. Gilbert had taught him how to roast meat like this, and he wanted to show that he could put those skills to use. As he turned the rabbit, he kept glancing over at Gilbert. He stayed silent until one of his sidelong glances actually caught his eye. “About last night,” he said. “You know I didn’t mean all that, right? I want to be a Nation that you can be proud of.”

Gilbert sighed as he took a seat by the spit. "I know you didn't mean it," he said with a curt nod. "But don't you dare ever show anybody else what you showed me last night."

Ludwig froze. There was no anger coloring Gilbert’s voice, but there was something else there. Was it  _ fear? _

“The reason that the nations we know are still around is because they were smart and strong enough to not be picked off as targets. Don’t forget that.” 

Ludwig bowed his head. He’d made Gilbert fear for him. He should have been stronger than that. He should have held his tongue and dealt with his nightmare by himself. "Yes, sir," he said quickly. "I won't."

"Good.” Resting his chin on his hand, Gilbert stared at the flames that licked at the rabbit on the spit almost regretfully. He bit back kinder words as he continued. "Speak to me about anything you have concerns about. But do not show your citizens, your bosses, and most certainly,  _ not  _ other countries. That behaviour will make you look weak and we don't want that, do we?" 

“No, sir.” The responses came as easily as to a well-trained soldier “I understand. I won’t let anybody see me like that.” He could control himself. "I will not allow myself to become a victim," he swore.

"That's what I like to hear," 

The rabbit slowly turned darker on the spit and the fat crackled as Ludwig turned it over and over. “It’s  _ done _ .” His voice flew up an octave and his cheeks turned pink. That had never happened before. “What was that?”

Gilbert's head snapped up, his stupefied expression quickly turning into one of wry amusement before trying, and failing miserably to contain a cackle. 

Ludwig only covered his mouth, his cheeks going even brighter red. 

Managing to stifle himself enough, to look at his brother’s narrowed eyes with a straight face, Gilbert cleared his throat. "It's... It's nothing. You're just really getting bigger aren’t you?" He desperately clung to his composure for the sake of his brother’s pride. 

“Don’t laugh!” he snapped, trying to calm his flaming face. “It’s embarrassing.”

Prussia blew a breath through his pursed lips dismissively. "How so? It happens to everybody your age-" he suddenly paused, realisation plastered on his face. "... Or something like that.” He waved the thought away with a smile. "But really it's nothing to be ashamed of. In fact, I think it's sweet." 

"It is  _ not  _ sweet!" Ludwig insisted, groaning when he heard his voice crack again.

Gilbert put his hand over his mouth to hide the wild grin on his face. "I only speak the truth," He teased, shoulders shaking slightly with contained amusement.

Ludwig turned away from his brother and removed the rabbit from the spit. His cheeks were still bright. "Shut up and eat your breakfast," he grumped, voice still at a whisper as Gilbert helped himself.

"Will do,  _ pipsqueak _ .” 

Ludwig rolled his eyes, looking away. He ate his breakfast in silence. "So when we get to Berlin… What exactly is going to happen?

Gilbert hummed in forethought as he picked the rabbit apart. "Well… To begin, we’re going to meet with Wilhelm, confirm the news as a formality, and arrange a meeting to legally officiate the new Empire.” His shoulders bunched with recollection, eyes lighting up. 

“Oh, right - I heard that Wilhelm wants his coronation to be held in Versailles, by the way. Can’t say I blame him wanting to laugh in France’s face one last time - Oh…” he suddenly appeared pensive, eyes darting as if trying to connect the dots on an invisible map. “It could be tricky to arrange considering recent politics, but I’m sure there’s ways around.”

Ludwig was about to interrupt before Gilbert beat him to it, words coming out of his mouth faster than Ludwig could take them in. 

“We might even go the whole nine yards and erect some new shiny statues to commemorate the unification, and have an entire celebration in m-  _ our _ honour… But that’s the fun part - Unless news reached early, there could be a non-official public celebration of some kind, but hey,” he shrugged, swallowing the last of his food as if we were discussing as something as frugal as the weather. “We’ll see how everything goes before I go off making any promises. Bavaria was a complete ass about your unification after all.” 

Ludwig nodded slowly, trying to follow. Gilbert rarely spoke of this business, saying it was far too complicated for Ludwig to worry about yet, and Ludwig could understand why. Ludwig only smiled nodded, finished his own portion, before wiping his hands on the grass. "We should get going, shouldn't we? Or we won't get to Berlin before nightfall."

"Oh, definitely,” Gilbert concurred as made a line for their bags. He groaned with exertion as he picked up their luggage. “I’m definitely looking forward to getting a drink once we return to civilization.” 

Ludwig picked up the other case and scrambled after his brother, keeping close to him as they kept walking through forest and towns. Fortunate enough to have hitched a ride on the back of a hay wagon on a similar route. With time saved, they reached the city outskirts at twilight. Yet Gilbert never slowed his pace, eyes set firmly on the distant lights of Berlin. 

Ludwig was looking more and more excited with every step towards the city. He gripped Gilbert's hand tight, stumbling over the rocky, holed road on the way to the main city. He could hear the life from the city from nearly a mile away. His people were celebrating their victory, their return. He looked so thrilled.

After making their way past the outskirts of Berlin, the pair slipped through a crowd of dancing, celebrating citizens. Gilbert only holding Ludwig’s hand tighter to ensure they wouldn’t be ripped apart by the sheer chaos that permeated the streets and laneways. They ducked through them to find the royal family’s castle before being waved in by the guard. Though Gilbert acknowledged him curtly, Ludwig's face was stretched in a wide grin, his hands trembling with excitement.

The front door opened, and a rush of familiarity filled Ludwig’s senses. A year was too long to be so far from home. Ludwig could have lived in the front entrance forever, just drinking it in, but instead he grabbed Gilbert’s wrist and dragged him up and down winding hallways to their chambers. As soon as he threw the door open and dropped his suitcase on the floor, he started to laugh so hard he almost cried. "We're home..." he whispered. 

Gilbert watched Ludwig, dumbfounded. He could barely even think, let alone verbally form a word to respond to his brother’s exuberant reaction. From the ordeals of the previous year, being surrounded by constant death and conflict of interest, something pure in Ludwig had still survived. 

It was as if somebody had reignited a dull flame underneath Ludwig's skin. 

Placing his luggage beside himself, Gilbert surveyed the room. His eyes dragged over a framed mezzotint of Frederick the Great that watched him from the mantelpiece. 

Where there had been haphazardly strewn battles of attack over his desk a year prior, was the dusted surface of his oak desk. 

“It’s good to be back,” he remarked simply, slinging his arm over Ludwig’s shoulder to pull him in. Though he could see little in his peripheral vision, Gilbert could’ve sworn that Frederick’s lips curved upwards for a split second. 

Ludwig allowed himself the closeness, turning to wrap his arms around his chest. He hadn't noticed how much taller he'd gotten in the past few weeks, though, and the force of the hug bowled Gilbert over onto their bed, Ludwig ending up underneath him. He yelped and blushed, Gilbert cursing loudly. "Sorry!" he gasped as Gilbert scrambled to get up. 

“It’s fine,” he dusted the front of his jacket hastily, looking over at the mezzotint apologetically. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Christ. You really shot up, didn’t you?” 

Ludwig ran a hand through his hair, looking away bashfully. “I guess so.” He looked around the room again, slowly taking in each rediscovered detail- the hanging swords from centuries of battle, meticulously dusted in their absence; a small library’s worth of journals ranging from brand new to ancient in a locked glass cabinet… 

Ludwig chuckled, rolling over the bed. "I never thought this bed could feel so comfortable," he sighed, stretching out and letting himself sink into it. "The one back in Westphalia was lumpy and horrible."

“Easy for you to say. Fluffed pillows and silk sheets is all you’ve ever known,” he teased, taking a seat on the corner of the mattress. Despite everything, Gilbert found himself in agreement as he ran his fingers over the satin quilt cover. “Still… It can’t compare to this.” 

Ending on that note, Gilbert dropped back against the sheets with a sigh. Relief seeped through as the cool covers brushed the nape of his neck. He wanted to envelope himself in them and sleep for a decade. "Hopefully we won't have to go back there on business matters again." 

It was best to leave the memories of that cottage to history books, and his personal journals. 

Ludwig scooted closer, laying his head on Gilbert’s chest. He wrapped his arm over his stomach to pull his “pillow” closer. While they had another bed in the other half of the room, Ludwig had grown used to sleeping right next to Gilbert over the past few months, and he didn’t feel like sleeping alone. 

The pair slept like logs for the few hours they had, until a maid that Ludwig had always liked knocked on the door. He wasn’t sure he liked her very much now, though, telling them they had to wake up for an audience with the king. He nudged Gilbert in the ribs until he sat up, grizzling. 

“Wilhelm is ready to see you both in ten minutes,” she announced with a smile. 

Gilbert returned what looked like a sad attempt at a polite smile. “Thank you, Helga. We’ll be there in a moment.” The maid only gave a polite nod in answer as she closed the door. 

Gilbert groaned into his hands the second he heard the door jamb click, getting to his feet to assess himself in the mirror. “Wash your face and get dressed, Ludwig,” he wrinkled his nose at his own reflection. 

Since Ludwig had first met him, Gilbert had tried to shove all of his too-stern, too-clean attitudes down his throat, and Ludwig tried to convince himself that it hadn’t worked. Still, he wanted to impress the king. He wanted to impress Gilbert. He brushed his hair and started to put on his white formal uniform, but couldn’t even get the jacket over his shoulders. “Maybe I should borrow one of yours,” he said. He reached into Gilbert’s wardrobe and pulled out a larger version of his own uniform that was perhaps a bit loose on the shoulders, but at least didn’t make him look like he was bursting out of his seams. Gilbert looked as if he were trying very hard to bite his tongue, eyes set on the awkward shoulder creases. The uniform looked rumpled from not being worn in so long, but Ludwig still managed to look put together as he attached his epaulets and sash. Nevertheless, it didn’t stop Gilbert from hurriedly trying to even out the wrinkles of Ludwig’s sash. 

Too tired to bother making a fuss, Ludwig only rolled his eyes and let him straighten it out. He checked his reflection one more time and followed Gilbert out of the room to meet their king. He couldn’t show how ecstatic he was as they walked through the long hallways. He had to look refined and professional and show his king that he was no longer a child nation. He would honor the legacy of his predecessor, the great Holy Roman Empire, and he'd do it better. He would be a nation his brother could be proud of.

They finally paused in front of the throne room, Gilbert greeting the guards with a respectful nod. Without another word, the doorman cast open the ornamented doors, allowing the pair passage. 

The sheer size and grandeur of the throne room never ceased to amaze Ludwig. The first time he’d seen it, he had completely forgotten the conversation he was having with the Prussian King, the intended Emperor who sat before him now. He pointedly looked at nothing but him.

He was smiling. Odd. Ludwig rarely saw him smile. “Judging from the celebrations in my streets, I hope you have good news for me.”

"I’m sure you’ve been informed that we’ve claimed victory over French forces." Gilbert confirmed, lowering his head. He felt a deep sense of pride swell in his chest at his own words and if not given the formality of their current position, would've flashed a grin at Ludwig. Forcing back the brief flicker of emotion, Gilbert lifted his head once more to look back at the king. “Your coronation will be arranged to be held in Versailles, where you’ll be crowned the first Head of State for the Empire.” 

The king nodded. “Good. There is just one formality that needs to be taken care of before we set off to France. Sign that document there, and officially, Prussia will exist as a free state under the German Empire.” He gestured to a table on which lay a long-winded document filled with incomprehensible legalese. Ludwig stepped forward to sign. He paused, though, before pen hit paper. He didn't have a surname. Gilbert did, but Ludwig had never used one. He'd never needed it. So he simply signed his first name and tried not to think about how childish it must look to sign a document “Ludwig.” 

The king looked at both of them with a proud smile. “We should be heading off soon. Once we return from France, Prussia, you and I will need to look over the constitution with Bismarck. I will call for you then.”

Ludwig straightened up. “With all due respect, your highness,” he began. “I believe I should be part of that conversation.” Alarm flared in Gilbert’s eyes at the very speck of irritation he could hear in his brother’s voice. 

Annoyance flashed across the king’s face, but he nodded. “If your brother is willing to put up with you, then I would allow it.”

Gilbert stepped forward hastily. “I would not be opposed to my brother’s involvement in such discussions - Purely as an educational experience that would do to benefit him.” For a moment, he faltered, choosing his words carefully. "Granted that his attendance is granted approval by yourself, I’ll personally see to if that he’s not a hindrance in any matter.” 

“Be sure he does not. For your sake.” He looked down to see the signed document and waved a hand. “You are both dismissed.” The brothers bowed and left the room.

Ludwig had never looked so incensed. "Doesn’t he understand that I am older than him?" He hissed under his breath. "He can't treat me like a child! Why doesn't he understand-!" he cut off when he saw the look on Gilbert's face. "Sorry." He lowered his eyes and chewed on his lip, cheeks still red, hands still shaking.

“How old are you, Ludwig?” 

Not only did the question throw Ludwig off, but he actually had to stop and think about how old he really was. “Sixty five. Why?”

“And how old is Wilhelm the First?” 

He wasn’t actually sure about that. He looked up at Gilbert with a blank look on his face. 

“He’s seventy four.” 

“Oh.”  _ Oh. _ Ludwig was so used to interacting with soldiers who were a third of his age, he’d actually forgotten that humans didn’t exclusively exist as his junior.

“What do we say about your elders?”

“You respect them.” But he was only nine years older! That meant nothing to their kind!

“Exactly.” 

They crossed the threshold of their room and Ludwig flopped back on the bed. “Still, I don’t understand how you can take that disrespect. You’ve been around for nearly two millennia, and they treat you like you know nothing.”

Gilbert’s expression was split evenly between ausement, exasperation and sympathy. “Sometimes they just don’t know better.” He shut the doors behind. “Can you say you blame them? Our existence and our experiences are so difficult for normal people to really comprehend. They have such short lifespans.” He placed his hand on Ludwig’s shoulder. “Just give him a chance. He genuinely wants the best for the Empire.” 

Ludwig sighed. "I know he does. I still hate it," he muttered. "How do I get him to take me seriously when I look like this?” He looked down at his pubescent body with disgust curling his lip.

“You prove yourself.” Gilbert answered simply, removing his sash. “As many times as you have to for as long as you breathe. Respect won’t be handed to you just because you’re you. Especially if you know little to nothing about how business is run.” 

That shut down Ludwig’s indignation faster than anything else. Gilbert looked so stern… He hated seeing him angry. “I’m sorry. I should have held my tongue.” His eyes flicked up to meet Gilbert’s. “I was just frustrated.”

"Tired too, I imagine,” Gilbert answered, mussing Ludwig’s hair out of its clean style. “Get some rest, and I’ll arrange a tutor for you tomorrow.” 

Ludwig nodded at his brother, a small smile stretching across his face as Gilbert made his way to the bathroom to clean himself. "I promised you long ago that I would make you proud…” Gilbert stopped in his tracks. “I finally get to live up to that."

Gilbert turned his head to look at Ludwig, all oversized uniform and determined eyes. “Good.” He nodded decisively, heart swelling. “Keep making me proud.” 


	7. Preussenschlag

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year! It's fitting that we start our next arc at the start of a new year, and it's great that we're back on schedule with posting.   
Also, thank you so much for all the lovely comments! We love hearing your thoughts. 
> 
> Chapter Warnings: None

_ 1932 _

"You can't do this." The document slid across the table, stark white despite being stained in Prussia’s lifeblood. Germany stood, shaking his head. "Sir, you don't understand. I need my brother. You can't dismiss him. He is a vital part of the empire we are trying to build."

“He is unfit,” Papen said. “After Altona Bloody Sunday, I thought you would agree. He needs to worry about his own people. He cannot worry about yours.”

Germany’s eyes blazed. “Do not feed me the bullshit you’re handing to the people. You just want him out of the way because his cabinet won’t allow you a dictatorship!” He looked down at one of the articles and shook his head. “You’ll be the  _ Reichskommissar _ , will you? You’ll represent the interests of his people?” He could have laughed at the prospect if it weren’t so akin to skinning Prussia and wearing him as a suit.

To his credit, Papen dropped the charade. “He is in the way.”

"I will not kill my own brother."

Papen shook his head, looking almost kindly at him. "I am not asking you to kill him. I am just asking you, no,  _ ordering  _ you: push him to the backseat, and let us take what is rightfully ours!"

His shoulders slumped. He looked defeated. “I don’t have a choice, do I?” He looked up to meet the Chancellor’s eyes. Papen seemed pleased that he’d come to that conclusion on his own. “Give me the opportunity to tell him,” he requested. “Release the decision tomorrow, but let me have tonight to tell him. He doesn’t deserve to hear about this on the radio.” When they regained their dignity, he would give Prussia his authority back. If things went as planned, Prussia would have more of his own land back, too. Everything would be fine. It was all for the greater good of the people, wasn’t it? He picked up the pen and signed.

* * *

As much as he hated to say it, the shuffling of paper was a sound that Prussia had gotten far too accustomed to. Rifling through stacks upon stacks of documents, he couldn’t help but wonder how on earth his meticulously constructed masterpiece of an Empire had fallen into such ruin. 

Granted, it had been such a glorious 47 years while they lasted. Had Frederick never exited, Prussia would’ve unhesitatingly declared those 47 years the best of his existence. 

However, unlike people or beloved kings, Empires could be resurrected with enough effort and determination. Even if it meant rifling through paperwork that didn’t belong to him. 

New systems were, of course, too easy to meddle with. Pillars for uncertainty and inevitable disaster. Opportunity for others like himself. 

All of this was mere insurance, he’d justified. At worst, it was a form of salvation from the present. He had to do this. Otherwise, no hope would be gained, and he would relive the same monotonous routine. For crying out loud, the most exciting part of his day was Germany returning home, wearing the same cheap suit, with his bags under his eyes. Every day, they’d greet each other with false niceties that none of them genuinely felt. 

Inhaling heavily through his nose, Prussia rearranged Germany’s documents, just the way he’d found them. It was a decent enough distraction to keep him from the fact that his own desk was desolate of anything of significance these days. 

Even his own routine of journaling had fallen apart. But in his own defence, how could anybody possibly write about themselves, if every day blended into the next until they could no longer be distinguished apart? His existence had been diminished to nothing but a waste of paper, so rifling through his brother’s seemed to have been the very best next option. Purgatory and Hell appeared to be a lot closer than he had ever imagined. 

Right on cue as he shut the door to his brother’s office, Prussia heard the front open. He managed to get to the top of the stairwell just in time to see Germany placing his briefcase down by the door. Of course. Prussia’s eyes narrowed. The same suit, the same tie and the exact miserable fucking look on his face and… An unsettling graveness about him. It was only once their eyes met did Prussia put his hand up in greeting as he descended down the stairs with the same nonchalance he feigned most days. "How was business today?" 

In answer, Germany went to the kitchen for two bottles of beer and handed one to Prussia as he met him in the hallway. 

He could almost sense his brother’s heart sink as the cold beer was placed into his hand. “We should talk.” Germany barely looked at him, just gestured for Prussia to follow him into the dining room, where he sat at the table with his legs crossed, arms folded in front of him. He kept glancing around to make sure there weren’t any sharp objects too near Prussia. “I need you to promise to hear me out. This emergency decree will be released to the public tomorrow.” He pulled out an envelope and slid it across the table. “I had to follow orders. I had to sign it. It’s for the greater good, I swear, and you can hate me if you want, but… this is necessary for our redemption.”  _ Coward. _ He couldn’t even say out loud what he’d done, what he’d allowed Papen to do. His mind was drawn to a moonlit night in the woods, half dressed and shivering - The look on his brother’s face. “I’m so sorry.” 

The pang of anxiety in the pit of Prussia’s stomach expanded into an unwavering sense of dread. He was helpless to do anything else than tear open the envelope, Germany’s trepidation magnifying with the sound of paper tearing. 

By any other circumstances, Prussia would’ve placed the letter aside with the rest of the overdue electricity bills and declarations of repair, but it was too late. Not with the two of them sitting apart from each other like this - And certainly not with his eyes skimming over the contents, and then once more, just to make sure that he’d read the contents correctly. 

Should he speak? Was there anything he could say to make this better? Germany opened his mouth to speak a few times, but thought better of it each time. He let Prussia take his time to read the decree over as many times as he needed, so he could process all that was happening. He almost spoke again when Prussia crumpled the letter in his hand and covered his face, but no words seemed right. Neither could say anything. 

When Prussia found itself in him to say a word, his voice came out unusually soft. As if he himself would shatter if he spoke too loud. “Redemption, huh?” 

The legs of his chair screeched against the tiles with how violently he got to his feet. “Redemption!?” His voice was nothing short of a bark, the sound like an arrow striking through paper. 

Prussia brandished the letter at Germany as if it were the same knife that had just stabbed him in between the shoulders.“What in the everliving hell does that fucker Papen mean by redemption!?” Germany didn’t even have the courtesy of looking up when the balled up letter hit him straight in the chest. 

Prussia wanted to do worse. Cut off the very hands that had given him this death sentence and hang them in the doorway like some charm of superstition. Prevent anything like this from ever happening again. 

“I gave you everything, and you just went ahead and...” he stammered over the hundreds of thoughts cycloning through his mind. Trying to pick the right thing to say left him stumbling over syllables that meant nothing. Helpless to do so much as even form a sentence, and helpless to do anything than just sit by and idly watch before fading into nothing. “Fuck!” He kicked the chair he’d previously sat on, Germany cringing as it hit the edge of their china cabinet. 

“I’m sorry.” There was no explanation he could give. There was no excuse for allowing this to happen. “It isn’t forever. As soon as we regain our glory, I swear I’ll fight tooth and nail to return you to power. But right now, my people are suffering. They are ashamed to be German. The National Socialists give them hope, and your government is getting in their way.” He ignored the way that Prussia pointedly took a sip of his beer - The raise of his brow. “I can’t say I like them undermining the power of the Reichstag, but if it helps us get back to where we were, if it makes us stronger, then it is a necessary evil.”

“Necessary evil -“ Prussia made a sound torn between a scoff and a laugh as he picked up the chair. The beers precariously rattled against the surface as he shoved the chair back where it had been. “Your stupid fucking party speaks of regaining honor, but forgets who it was that founded the glory we once had." He took a swig from the cheap swill they could afford these days, as if it would soften a blow already inflicted. 

"So tell me,  _ brother dearest _ .” He wiped the condensation that had transferred from his hands onto his trousers. “What makes you think that you're going to regain everything we lost in the last war?” His eyes were doubtfully slit as be leaned over the table in challenge. 

Germany’s lips pressed into a thin line. He took a deep breath, reaching for his own beer so he didn’t say something he’d regret. 

"No, really! Tell me everything, considering you thought this out so well!” 

The words twisted Germany’s lip.  _ Don’t dare talk to me like that.  _ He set the bottle down and turned to finally meet his brother’s eyes. “Perhaps you’ve forgotten how taxing the Great War was. Nobody wants another one. All I want is our land back. I want to bring Austria back into the fold, and regain the Rhine. We will stop as soon as we have the land that was wrongfully taken from us. Nobody will stand in our way so long as we don’t go overboard. I will personally see to it that we won’t. My people are scattered. You’ve been severed from me.” He folded his hands in front of him. “I won’t make the same mistakes I did last time. Besides, I have plans for allies. Japan. He started his own expansion last year, and with his attitude, I’d rather have him assisting than opposing. And…” He doubted this would go over well. “Italy. I know, after the last time he doesn’t seem ideal, but Mussolini is a powerful man; I trust him about as much as you can ever trust an ally. He believes in his cause. He won’t turn tail and run if this does turn to war, and that isn’t my intention.”

“Oh! So in the case that this gets blown into an actual war, you have an actual plan?” Prussia somehow still had it in him to give a believable expression of surprise, scratching his face with false intrigue. “A hermit on the other side of the world, who was unwilling to do so much as engage in trade for centuries. And the Italians, who are currently under dictatorship.” He clinked glasses with Germany. “I’m certain this will all go over swimmingly.”

Germany’s eyes narrowed. “What exactly do you expect me to do, Gilbert? What could I have done? Burned the emergency decree? I’m sure that would have made Papen stop and consider what he was doing, right? He must have just written this up because of the riot in Altona, like he’s telling the world, and when you pinky promise to never let that happen again, he’ll let you keep your authority. He couldn’t have possibly used that mess to dismiss you just for his own personal gain, how silly would that be? You’re right, I’ll just pop over there and convince him to let go of all the power he’s going to gain by keeping you out of the Reichstag.” He couldn’t keep up his sardony for too long, he wasn’t good at it. Prussia almost looked humoured by his attempt. He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Just govern your territory as you normally would. I don’t know what else to tell you. I just… I need you on my side here. I need to know you’ll stick by me.”

“And I am! It’s the reason I’m still here, Ludwig!” There was a painful earnestness to his voice, even though all the anger that shrouded it. “Sticking by you has been imperative since the very beginning, and you know that!” The heavy hand of exhaustion had taken hold of his shoulders, attempting to anchor him down to the chair again. 

But sitting down again, across his brother, after such a conversation would’ve been a gesture of acceptance and resignation. He chose to lean against the table instead. “I’ll always stick by you. But that doesn’t mean I’ll agree with whatever you do.” His nails picked at the peeling label of the bottle. “This seems like a rash decision to have been made.” 

“You think so? I wouldn’t be surprised if Papen had been planning this for months. I don’t think rash is the right word for it. Stupid, absolutely. He doesn’t understand how we work. He thinks that I could somehow run this nation without you and leave you in the past.” Prussia was a relic from an older, more barbaric time. He’d adjusted to a modern world like a fish to water, but there was still something too harsh about him, something that had consistently made Germany’s superiors nervous. Something in him had remained too firm to be moved by the changing world, but that was what Germany needed. “He just doesn’t get it.”

“Clearly,” Prussia scoffed, kicking the crumpled ball into the far corner of the kitchen. Out of sight… And hardly out of mind. 

“You know... Maybe Papen doesn't have to understand a thing.” Prussia slowly turned to look at his brother. A familiar gleam had returned to his eyes that Germany recognised far too well. “Even when I’m taking care of my own minimal affairs, I think there might be ways that I could help you run office without him finding out.” 

Germany raised an eyebrow. “Oh?” He shook his head, letting out a breath. “It sounds good, but I don’t know if it would work- that wasn’t a no,” he added at the sight of Prussia’s disappointed expression. “I’m just saying we’d need to be careful. If any of my superiors find out I’m taking your advice when I’m supposed to have dismissed you, it won’t end well.” 

"Oh, I’m sure they won't,” came Prussia’s assured reply. "I mean, you take care of the signings, and the important decision making, and I just give you more… Options, as I weigh in behind their backs.”

How nice, to be so confident in their powers of subterfuge. It wasn’t a bad idea, though. Prussia had eons more experience running a country, and as long as Germany could keep Prussia’s involvement under wraps, he could work in this new political landscape and wield that experience the way Prussia always had to get his own way in court. But he couldn’t say any of this aloud; Prussia was speaking over his inner monologue.

“I mean, all in all, very little changes, except for the fact that I don’t have the power to be making decisions in the Reichstag - You do! But I can make suggestions, that can be brought up through my representatives. And in the case that you approve of them, you could always persuade your own members into agreeing. That wasn’t allowed before, but…” he shrugged. “We’re running on a different set of rules now that I don’t have the same influence.” 

Germany rolled his eyes. “Sneaky little shit,” he muttered, but the smile on his face didn’t give the words much credence. “I suppose you’re right. Better to beg forgiveness than to ask permission, isn’t that what you used to say?” He sighed and took a long swallow of his beer. “Seems Herr Hitler has been taking that advice to heart as well… You know Papen’s considering offering him the vice-chancellorship? Power-hungry bastard. I’ll wager you anything he asks to be Chancellor instead.”

Prussia drew a deep breath through his nose. “Do you mean to tell me that Papen wants to give the vice-chancellorship to Herr Hitler?” Though his brows pulled together, his eyes were set wide open, as if he were waiting for the punchline of a bad joke. “The jailbird that fired a round of shots into the ceiling and tried to kidnap the Bavarian state commissioner?” Prussia’s expression mirrored the wince that appeared on Germany’s face as he nodded. 

“I don’t trust him either. Papen says he can be controlled, but there’s just something about the man that…” He shuddered. “Either way, I have to do as my superior says. That’s what you always taught me, so I suppose I’ll just let him do what he thinks he ought to, and hope he takes my advice.” To be so impotent was frustrating beyond measure. 

“And you’re still willing to apply that principle to any rich bastard that knows how to appeal to the masses instead of someone with a long line of successors that you’ve known personally for centuries?” 

Germany lowered his head. He was sometimes painfully aware how much Prussia knew that he didn’t, how much experience he had, and even the gentle chastise reminded him of that. Still, he couldn’t help the quiet voice in his head-  _ It’s not as if I can actually do much else. _

“You know what? No.” Germany was pulled from his thoughts by his brother’s voice. 

“No, what?” His eyebrows were raised in confusion. Prussia looked uncharacteristically abashed.

“That was unfair of me. My second-hand experiences are all you’ve known, and the circumstances aren’t even around to apply them anymore - Forget what I said.” The legs of the chair squeaked as Prussia pulled it out to presume his original seat. 

Germany furrowed his brow, letting out a surprised bark of a laugh. “Was that an apology I just heard from you? I wasn’t aware that such a thing was in your vocabulary.” He drained the last of his beer, smiling. “It’s alright, really. This kind of government is unlike the one you grew up with. It’s nice not to be the only inexperienced one in the room for once.”

Was there ever a point in time where a country lives so long that they retained their ways to an archaism? Or was dissolution and invasion a natural stopping point to halt the civilised decay of a nation that had lived past its time? The very thought seemed to lift his hand and force him to finish what remained of his beer. “You know…” Germany looked up at him. “At least I can’t take my dismissal too personally now.” Prussia remarked, with the smallest hint of a smile. “It’s not Papen’s fault he was born an imbecile.” 

Germany stood to retrieve new beers for them and, when he returned, had a sheepish look on his face. “Can you tell me about the Holy Roman Empire again?” How many times had he heard the stories? Prussia had to be annoyed by the incessant requests. He sat down across from him, lip between his teeth and hands folded in his lap. “Please?” he amended.

"Again?" Prussia looked as was about to complain further, but decided against it. "Holy Rome unified many counties and states; Austrian, Bavarian States, Franconia's Circle, Duchy of Anhalt, only to name a couple... Hell, this land we stand on, used to belong to him. You know what happened.” He finished abruptly, casting his eyes downward and taking ahold of his drink. “Why are you even asking me again? There’s no point talking about it.” 

Germany shook his head. “No, I know the history. I’ve heard it so many times I could recite it backwards. I meant, tell me about your brother. Italy said they knew each other, but he wouldn’t say anything else. Everyone knew him, but nobody tells me about him, and I was only a few years old when he died, so I have no idea... He looked sort of like me, didn’t he? Did he act like me? Or was he more like you?” He’d asked everyone who would give him a moment’s time, but nobody ever wanted to talk about it. Everything changed in a room when someone mentioned Holy Rome. “I just want to know who I’m trying to live up to.”

Prussia shifted uncomfortably at the question. "It sometimes scares me to remember how alike the both of you look." Prussia admitted, raising the bottle to his lips again and looking over to scan his brother's appearance. Blond hair that had been slicked back, piercing blue eyes, fair skin; and when Germany had been younger, a similar facial structure. Holy Rome had more delicate, less of this industrialised mass that sat before him. "He was goal orientated, resilient, although sometimes a little impulsive with how he went about things... Ostentatious in tastes, mild in manners. A blend of us, I suppose.” 

“It’s hard to imagine him looking like that little kid in the portraits, knowing everything he accomplished.” He looked up at Prussia. “After everything I've lost, how am I supposed to live up to that?"

Sighing heavily, Prussia forced himself to look up at Germany. “Look! I don't know." he averted his eyes. "But I know you’re anything but stubborn, and if you’re anything like me, we will survive this.” 

Germany huffed a laugh through his nose. “You’re right about that. I got it from you.” He sipped his beer. “We’ll be alright. We can regain our power and glory. We can be proud again.”

"And so we will." Prussia laughed, scribbling over his own uncertainty with an optimism so false, it was laughable. "I think we’ll be fine.” 

“So do I.” They both had to know it was a lie. Failure was all too possible, and the consequences for such far too great. But if they even thought about that, they wouldn’t have the mettle to go on. So they smiled and drank as if the world wasn’t threatening to burn around them.

Prussia could only nod in response, not wanting to press any further of the issue, the malaise returning like some kind of recurrent virus. The probability of failure was high, but if they were to win, the reward would be greater than the loss. Anything had to be. With that thought in his mind he raised his bottle towards his brother, flashing a grin that felt too wide for his current emotional state. "To a greater Germany."

"To a greater Germany," he replied, raising his beer. 


	8. The Camps

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooh, we getting angsty now! 
> 
> Chapter Warnings: Mention of the Holocaust and death camps, vivid descriptions of illness

_ 1944 _

When the front door creaked open, Germany tensed. Of course, Prussia had to choose now to come home from his trip. He wiped the blood from his chin and flushed the toilet, sure to check for any stray evidence of his illness and wipe it away. He came downstairs to see Prussia by the door, still kicking off his shoes. He looked awful- paler than Germany had ever seen him, eyes tinged red as if he’d been crying. “What’s wrong?” he asked, in lieu of a proper greeting. He didn’t miss the way Prussia’s shoulders stiffened. “I didn’t think you’d be back so soon. You were sent to Poland, weren’t you?” He’d gotten so scatterbrained over the past few days, though, that Prussia could have been sent to Egypt for all he knew.

"I was." Prussia’s answer was cut as he threw his jacket over the coat hanger, with none of his usual fastidiousness. “I’m back though. Early. But I’m back.” 

Germany could tell Prussia was troubled, but he couldn't think why. Poland wasn't in the best of shape after the partition, that was true, but what could have been so bad there that he looked so upset? Prussia seemed to want to escape out of his own skin, as his eyes darted between the kitchen and the stairwell. "You’re not usually this quiet. What's going on?" 

Had Germany’s eyes been sharper, he’d have picked the way the hairs on the back of his brother’s neck lifted at the very question. 

As it was, he saw only how Prussia’s shoulders slumped, how his eyes traversed the room as if looking for an exit from the conversation. How he looked, in a way, reduced. His sight, with unmistakable reluctance fell on Germany. 

“Do you remember what you told me about the Führer’s secret meeting?” 

The uncertain look on Germany’s face made Prussia want to release the spring in the back of his brain, that kept him so tightly reeled into composure. 

“The one regarding the camps,” he pushed, almost pleadingly, before spotting recollection shining through his brother’s irises. 

That conversation was years past by now, but the anxiety he’d had the first day he’d overheard conversations about “camps in Poland” and a “Final Solution” and what those could possibly mean returned full force in that moment. He cleared his throat, grimacing at the bile that rose to the back of his mouth. "Of course I do," he said. "I spent two months trying to convince the Führer to tell me the truth about them. Why?" He bit the inside of his cheek, not sure that he really wanted to know the answer. Prussia seemed equally as uncertain of telling him. "What is it?" What could possibly be so bad? 

“ _ Ludwig _ .” Prussia said the name as if he were holding it between his teeth. Like it would steady him _ . _ “They’re mass murder sites.” 

Germany’s blood ran cold in his veins at the words. Bile rose in his throat, and he tasted copper on the back of his tongue, yet Prussia went on. “I - I don’t know how many there are, but I know that there’s more than the one I just saw.” 

Germany remembered Russia showing him a  _ gulag _ , how disgusted he’d been. How ironic. He clamped his hand over his mouth as his stomach churned. Realising he wouldn’t be able to make it to a toilet, Germany sprinted into the kitchen and emptied the contents of his stomach into the sink. There was so much red. The image in front of his eyes swam and wobbled. His throat felt as if a rabid animal had clawed its way up it. His knees could barely support his weight, yet he held his arm out as if it would stop Prussia on the periphery. He couldn’t see him like this. "I-I'm fine. Just stay back." 

The arm was slapped out of the way, with underlying irritation. "Don't give me that shit.” He could hear Prussia rummaging through his pockets for a clean handkerchief, and he fought to protest between gags. “How could you possibly be fine when your own people-” 

The red sink cut his words off clean. 

Germany wiped his mouth, looking up helplessly at his brother. The furrow of Prussia’s eyebrows had lifted, and there was nothing left in his expression, but pity. "I'm sorry," Germany whispered.  _ I'm sorry I'm so weak. I'm sorry I ever started this. _ He couldn't say any of these things before he was overtaken by another wave of nausea.

When Germany’s dry heaves were producing nothing but sickly yellow stomach acid, he took the handkerchief and wiped his face. He was nearly as pale as his brother now. His hands and arms were shaking as they tried to support him, taking over the work that belonged to his knees. He tried forcing back tears, but despite his efforts, they rolled down his nose anyway to plop into the pool of blood and bile in the bottom of the sink.  _ I’ll have to clean that up later. _ He could have kicked himself for that thought even coming to mind, as if the mess in the sink mattered at all in comparison to the revelation.

Germany felt like the only thing keeping him conscious was the hand that pushed the hair out of his brow, and the steadying hold on his shoulder. The sound of his brother’s voice even did so much make him lift his head when he said, “I’m sorry.” 

_ I’m the one who should be apologizing. You didn’t do anything wrong.  _ “Why?”

Prussia kept his eyes firm on the ground, didn’t do so much as even recoil as Germany’s breath dusted over his face. “I don’t know.” 

The walk to Germany’s bedroom might as well have been a mile’s hike. Germany was barely any help with his shuffle-steps forward and long pauses to reorient himself. But eventually they made it, and he curled up on his bed, not bothering to get under the blankets. His skin burned and sweat beaded up on his face. His heart pounded as if trying to escape his chest, the beat travelling to bang on his skull. The illness he’d been trying to manage for days now had finally ripped the fine threads holding him together. He groaned, pressing the heels of his hands against his forehead to stop the aching. It didn't help. Red and blue splotches danced in the black behind his eyelids. Maybe if he focused on that, his empty stomach wouldn’t be in knots. 

He tried to stay still, but his body trembled with cold. Hadn’t he been unbearably hot just moments before? He felt hands pressing blankets under him, wrapping him in cloth as tight as spider’s silk around a fly. His teeth chattered even under the thick, tight wool.

Prussia’s voice sounded muffled. "Try not to move, and keep your eyes closed. I'm going to get some water and rags for you." 

_ Try not to move _ had to be one of the most difficult orders Germany had ever been given. He tried, but the moment Prussia’s footsteps faded out of earshot, it seemed a fire ignited in his skin. He fumbled with the blankets, failing the first few tries to get them off of his body. He kicked them to the foot of the bed, spreading himself out in an attempt to cool down. He was breathing heavily just from the effort. It took only a few seconds- or was it hours?- for the temperature to plummet and the sweat on his skin to turn to ice. When would this end? He reached blindly for a blanket, which he pulled up haphazardly over himself. His muscles were twitching, every death like a knife through the heart. He wondered how he hadn't felt it before.

“Shit…” The sound of a full glass being placed right by his ear caused his eyes to snap open. He hadn’t even heard Prussia return - How long had he been standing there, watching him? Or had he ever been doing that to begin with? His speculations was halted when Prussia placed the back of his hand against his forehead, bringing him back to the many times he’d done so for him as a child. “You’re really not well.” Prussia reached for something outside of Germany’s scope of vision. 

A final shudder ran through Germany’s body, which stilled and sighed in relief at the feeling of a cool cloth on his forehead. “Is that any better?” His brother’s voice sounded like it was being carried through a tunnel. He opened his eyes, but the dots dancing in front of them didn’t allow him to see. They didn't disperse, no matter how long he waited, and his mouth wouldn't cooperate to tell Prussia what was going on. He shut his eyes again.

What felt like a century of silence passed in the span of half an hour, Prussia occupying the armchair opposite of his brother’s bed. A book or a journal could’ve easily filled in the free slot of time he’d been handed, but there was an absence to do so much as even lift a finger. Somebody had pulled a plug of some sort, drained him of all color and feeling and left him uncomfortably numb and empty. 

The rise and fall of his brother’s chest seemed like the only indicator of time passing - One breath, every three seconds. It was only once the stubborn light that forced its way from behind drawn blinds faded into blue did Prussia make a move to get up.  _ It should’ve been dinner time, right about now, right? _

What felt like all at once, his lungs gave out. Doing as much as drawing a breath seemed as if it would’ve been easier underwater. Prussia clutched at his throat reflexively as he fought against panic. Through the initial hit of adrenaline, the thought registered how relieved he was that Germany was unconscious. Even as he tried to regain control over his own breath -  _ Don’t hyperventilate _ -he stifled the wheezes with the palm of his hand as he made a move for the hallway. 

And just before he managed to reached his door, the plug was pulled from his airways and Prussia managed to not only finally draw a deep gasping breath, but expel a coughing fit that left him with aching ribs. He pulled his hand from where it had covered his mouth. His heart skipped. “Fuck.” The red string between his bottom lip and red flecked palm snapped with the word. 

The coughs echoed off the walls of the bedroom. Germany's brows furrowed, and he groaned as he was yanked from unconsciousness, trying to look back up at him. He could see a fuzzy outline of Prussia hunched over by the door through the haze of colors. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I got you sick, didn't I? Will you be alright?”

Prussia made a noise that could have either been a scoff or another wheeze. "You know better than to ask,” he answered, dabbing his mouth with a handkerchief. “I’m dismissed and still doing better than you.” 

Germany meant to laugh, but it was interrupted by a body-shaking coughing fit. Flecks of blood dotted the pillow. “That’s disgusting,” he muttered as he sat up and rubbed his face. His vision was slowly coming into focus, and the nap had cleared his mind. At least he wasn’t fluctuating so violently between shivering and sweating. “I can’t just lay in bed like an invalid,” he decided. “I’ll just run downstairs and get my paperwork.” He might make some tea as well to soothe his throat. But those plans were all for naught when his feet hit the floor. His vision faded and his knees gave out, his whole body crumpling like paper. His name was the last thing he heard before the world disappeared completely. 

_ Thud.  _


	9. Business as Usual

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your patience. It’s been a little difficult to try and upload on a regular schedule as @internetshutin and I (@ieve) are currently both in places where it’s a little difficult to connect to the internet and successfully edit together. Thank you for coming back and catching up on the series. We love you!

The thing that finally dragged Germany into consciousness was a shooting pain up his spine. He groaned, turning over. If he could just have five more minutes… But he doubted he’d ever wake again if he slept any longer. He sat up and rubbed his eyes to see the indistinct shape of his brother come into focus, his shock of silver hair starkly bright in the dim of the room. “What happened?” Every sound, including his brother’s voice, sounded distant to him, as if he were underwater.

“You passed out. I couldn’t get you to wake up again for the life of me.” Prussia set down the book in his hands, raising one to take Germany’s temperature. Germany’s eyes fought to stay open at the touch to his forehead. “How do you feel now?”

Germany’s limbs felt heavy. His head pounded, and every thought was fuzzy. His entire body felt hollow. “I’ll be alright. I don’t feel like I’m about to faint anytime soon, anyway.” He opened his eyes and finally got a good look at Prussia as he wiped the back of his hands on his jeans. “Jesus.” Prussia looked up. There were dark circles under his eyes, cheeks hollow and skin a sickly pale that even his albinism couldn’t excuse. “You look like shit.”

He got a smack on the arm with a damp tea towel instead of a witty answer. “Ah, shut up.” Prussia’s smile looked just about ready to drop off his face with all his exhaustion weighing it down.

“No, I mean it!” Ludwig raised his arms when Prussia brandished the tea towel again in warning. “Seriously, stop! Have you eaten since I fell asleep?” When was that, anyway? He’d have to check to see just how long he’d been out. “Look... You should get some res-”

“I’m fine, Ludwig.” The words hissed through gritted teeth in spite of their calm inflection. “Really. I feel fine. I’m not the one who’s been decorating the kitchen sink with bile so-”

“I’ve slept enough,” Germany protested. “And if I know you as well as I think I do, you haven’t slept since before you came back from Poland, have you?” Prussia cast his eyes down. Germany sighed. “Look, you’re exhausted. I can work from bed if it will get you to stop mothering me. But the last thing we need is for you to keel over. If I’m going to win this war, I can’t sleep through it.” The words tasted sour. He would have gladly handed the Allies the war and escorted them to the death camps himself if it would end the feeling of rot and decay in his skin, but Prussia was too much to lose.

Prussia’s mouth pressed itself into a stitched wound. “So, you still really want to fight for this cause, huh?”

“Not really,” Germany said. He locked eyes with Prussia. “I just don’t have much choice.”

“Bullshit.” Prussia wished for the sheen of sweat and the glossiness in his brother’s eyes to re-emerge. At least then, the excuse of delirium existed. “Your people are dying at a rate I’ve never seen before, Ludwig.”

Germany closed his eyes. “Yes, I’m fully aware of that.” He clenched his fists in the sheets. “I wasn’t just laying in bed for the hell of it.”

Midway through running a hand through his unwashed hair, Prussia turned his head. “So I guess we’re both just listing off things we’re both aware of now, aren’t we?” Germany almost recoiled at how easily the sharpness rolled off his brother’s tongue.

“Or maybe I’m just not being clear enough in saying that the day you finally pull your tongue out from the Führer’s ass is the day you should throw the whole goddamn war away.”

Never in Germany’s recollection had Prussia ever told him to lose, no matter how desperate the situation. His cheeks burned, eyes narrowing. “That’s not going to happen. Trust me, I’d like this to be over, but it isn’t that simple. If I surrender, the Allies could see fit to do away with you completely. I won’t-”

Prussia’s chest visibly heaved as if he were on the verge of falling neck deep into panic. “I don’t want the blood of those people on my hands because you’re afraid of fucking losing me!” There was a fiery sense of bargaining in his voice that Germany forgotten existed in his brother. Prussia, who'd been so strong and dependable his entire life, reduced to a base reaction. Seeing Prussia so rabid in his desperation almost made him think of a cornered animal. Had he had a coat of hair on his arms, it would’ve been standing on end. Germany had to bite his tongue as he lowered his gaze.

“As soon as I find out a way to keep you alive and whole, the war is over,” he swore. Prussia’s shoulders loosened somewhat, but whether it was in defeat or relief was hard to tell.

“But for now, you need to sleep. I can handle myself.” He stood, and had to brace himself as nausea and dizziness flooded his system, then slowly faded. He grabbed his paperwork from his office and returned to do it in bed. At least he’d be doing something while lying here. “I’m serious, go to bed. I’ll be fine.”

With a roll of his eyes at his brother’s authoritative tone, Prussia threw his hands up and made a move to walk out. “By the way…” Germany looked up. “The Führer called. You missed a meeting while you were out for the last few days. Tried asking him if I could fill in for you, but he insisted it was you he wanted to see.”

“Shit!” Germany snapped. “Fine, I’ll call him then. Could’ve just talked to you…” He started at the top of the pile and hit his stride after a few minutes of reading. He was maybe three-quarters of the way through by the time he realized it was two in the morning, and the words were blurring on the page, having worked almost twenty-four hours on the same task. He set the papers on his nightstand and went to sleep, figuring it would be better to deal with the Führer in person rather than over the phone.

* * *

He woke the next morning with his stomach in a lurch. He raced to the bathroom and heaved into it, but there was nothing to come out. He hadn’t eaten since the day he’d fainted. The taste in his mouth made him wince. He was too nauseous to eat much of anything anyway, so he just had coffee. The SS uniform hanging in his closet felt dirty when he slipped it on, now that he knew the truth. Still, he wore it, waiting an hour or two before he slipped into Prussia’s bedroom and gently rubbed his back. “Wake up. It’s morning; you slept all day yesterday.”

A red eye blearily cracked open. “The hell are you waking me for?” he slurred thickly, pawing at the hair over his eyes.

“You slept all day yesterday,” he repeated, just as Prussia waved his hand dismissively and turned his back. “I have to go catch up on the last few days’ worth of meetings. If you need me, just call the Reichstag. They’ll get a message to me.” He turned and made to leave the room. “Do you need anything?”

“Yes.” Prussia’s voice was muffled as he pulled the covers off his head. “Some peace and quiet. Just go to your meeting and stop waking me for no good reason.”  
Germany rolled his eyes and left, collar turned up against the wind.

The walk wasn’t long, but it took long enough to let him consider how fucked he was. When he opened the door to the Führer’s office, he cleared his throat and sat down across from him, trying not to wither under the fire in his eyes.

“Where were you? I had matters of great importance to discuss with you.”

“I’m sorry, I’ve been ill,” he said. “I think it might be to do with the Final Solution.”

Hitler’s eyes narrowed. “And how did you hear about that?”

“It’s a long story. Regardless, the camps are damaging my health. I don’t know how you expect me to fight a war while I’m bedridden half the time.”

Germany expected no sympathy, and recieved none. “It won’t take too much longer, so don’t concern yourself with it.”

_He'd been stupid to have expected anything else. _

* * *

It was late when Germany finally returned home, with dark bags under his eyes and a wheeze in his breath. When he saw Prussia, he forced a smile. “I didn’t think you’d be up.” He squeezed his eyes shut and massaged his temples to get rid of the tension headache. It didn’t work.

“Well... Thank my new sleeping pattern for that,” Prussia huffed in greeting from the kitchen table. “Are you feeling alright?” Germany asked as he hung his coat. “Not too tired or sick?”

Prussia shook his head. “Nothing of the sort.” The newspaper he was holding rustled as he turned a page. “Just bored. You were gone for an eon and a half.”  
“Well, you didn’t have to wait up for me,” Germany sighed. “You should go to bed. I have two days worth of work to catch up on.” He shook his head to rid it of the fog.

Prussia clicked his tongue. “Sounds about right,” he muttered resentfully, lifting his brow. Hearing brother about to step out of the doorway, Prussia set his book down and clicked his fingers at him to get his attention. “Oi, hey!” Germany stopped misstep, looking lightly exasperated. “Eat something first before you work yourself to death, hm?”

“Yes, Mutti.” He smiled and trudged to the kitchen to find and heat some day-old spaetzle, shoveling it into his mouth as he made his way to his office. It was the kind of hunger you didn’t realize you had until you started to eat, then it took over your brain, and all you could think was to consume.  
It was only once Germany had left a clean plate in the sink did Prussia truly smile.

He sat down at his desk and began his work, eyes so heavy they kept sliding closed. His head still pounded, and his skin tingled and burned and prickled, but he found a strange comfort in that pain; it meant the “Final Solution” wasn’t complete. There was still hope to stop it.  
A knock dragged Germany from his half-conscious state of reading and signing. “Come in.” He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, smiling when he saw his brother. “You should be asleep. Is something wrong?”

“There’s always gotta be something wrong these days, huh?” Prussia commented airily, shutting the door behind himself.

Germany hummed, eyes not leaving his desk. “Seems that way, yes.”

He could hear Prussia snort. “I just want to ask about your day. It’s like I barely see you anymore, you know?”

Germany glanced up. “It was fine. Boring. And I’ve got a mountain of work to catch up on tonight.” He tried not to be curt, but he did have too much to do to keep talking.

But in the moment that he looked up, he didn’t mistake the eager posture and the curiosity that gleamed in Prussia’s eyes as he perused his work. “Ooh! Are there any new developments?”

Germany doubted he’d want to hear it, but he’d never been good at lying to his brother. He sighed and set down his pen “Not much, honestly. He did let me see where the camps are, which was… enlightening. I can see why Poland hasn’t been active as of late.” He could only imagine the torment. “I told him how it was affecting me and asked him to shut it down.” He went silent.

“And?”

“He said no,” he said, looking away to avoid Prussia’s laser-focused gaze.

“... And?”

“Don’t lose your head...” As if that would stop him. “He hit me.” He braced himself for the reaction.

Prussia’s expression shifted from concern to shock, and eventually settled on anger. “What!?”

Germany sighed. “This is why I don’t tell you these things. Look, he’s getting desperate. He’s scared, and I suggested he throw out his entire plan for an ideal Germany. Is it all that surprising?”

“It’s not just that, it’s just…” he clicked his fingers in a way that would’ve resembled neuroticism, had his expression not been so levelled. “Even my worst bosses knew when they were done for,” he leaned against the desk. “And they didn’t hit me when I suggested something - Doesn’t he even understand the point of having us around?”

“The war is only tangential to his goals. He just cares about the Final Solution and the purity of the nation. They’re not my people, in his mind.” He isn’t either, but I suppose we don’t need to address that. “Honestly, I think he was angrier that I found out in the first place.”

Prussia nodded, pulling down his reading glasses from where they were perched on his head. “I suppose it makes things more inconvenient for him now.” He plucked a document off the desk, squinting slightly as he brought it closer to his face. “I’d tell you to be extremely careful lest Papen dissolves you, but you’re at an advantage. Who else would they put in charge? You’re their poster child with your lucky eyes and hair.” Prussia mused, rolling a few blond strands between his fingers as he read.

Germany rolled his eyes, batting away his hand. “That’d be nice if it meant anything at work. I just miss being respected. I haven’t been treated with this much disdain since… Well, probably since Wilhelm the First. Hitler just sees me as weak.” He sighed. “I’m sorry. I never should have let him into office. He talked a big game about glory, and now he’s destroyed everything because I was desperate enough to believe him.”

Prussia stilled at Germany’s words, dropping the papers down on the desk. “I know.” He placed a hand on Germany’s shoulder as if to steady his inflow of thought as for what to say. What was there to tell, but empty words? “ But the only thing that matters anymore is what’s going to happen, and what you want for your people.“ He squeezed Germany’s shoulder in reassurance.

Prussia’s touch had always been enough to break Germany, whether a fist used to train him or a gentle embrace. “I’m sure you’ll come around to make the right choice for your people and for us. You just need to figure it out.”

Tears pricked at his eyes, though he tried to blink them back he couldn’t restrain the sob that bubbled up in his throat. He wrapped his arms around Prussia, memorizing every detail of his embrace, the strength that still manifested in his emaciated body and the tenderness of fingers in his hair, his cheek in a bony shoulder. “I failed you,” he whimpered.

At times when there was nothing that could be said without being insincere, it was best to stay silent. His heart drummed against his ribs with such intensity that it ached, and he struggled to breathe with how heavily Germany’s arms constructed him, but god. One of them had to be stable for the other.

And there it was again. The irrational fear that if he let go, his brother would shatter into a hundred familiar boy sized pieces Prussia would not be able to piece together again. Unable to move, or say anything of value, he simply let his brother cry. He let him weep over his blind longing to believe in false words that currently defined his life, over feigned ideals, and the stark consequences that shadowed the present.

He kept his arms held strong around his brother’s shoulders, each sharp intake of breath between sobs like gunfire through the stillness of their house.


	10. A New Assignment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of these days we'll actually post a chapter on Wednesday. I mean, technically for me, it is still Wednesday for another three hours, but not according to ieve or even AO3.   
I really can't stress this enough: thank you so much for the comments and kudos on this. This is a story almost six years in the making, and to see that effort appreciated by you is really great.

When Germany cried himself out, they probably should have gotten up and gone to bed, but with him clinging to Prussia like a scared child on the first day of school, there was no way to separate them. Germany fell asleep in Prussia’s arms and, unwilling to extricate himself, Prussia moved them to the floor and let him rest.

The next morning, Prussia awoke with his face buried in his brother’s shoulder. Shifting underneath the weight of Germany’s arm, he grumbled sleepily and yawned, eyes fluttering open not long afterward.

When his brother moved, Germany groaned, yawning and blinking the crust from his eyes. He looked down at Prussia, and his cheeks turned pink. “Shit, sorry.” This wasn’t how a Nation was supposed to act. He cleared his throat. “Anyway, I haven’t got much to do today. I’ll just finish these papers, and then we’ve got the rest of the day to ourselves to do anything we want.” 

As he spoke, he straightened out his clothes and hair, trying to regain his sense of order while Prussia stifled a yawn behind his hand and kindly chose not to comment on his brother’s rushed reclamation of pride.  _ Let the poor boy have at least one thing to cling to. _ “How much do you have left?” 

Germany flipped through the pile as he settled down at his desk. “Not much. Maybe two hours’ worth if I hurry.” He started reading the first paper, trying to pretend last night just hadn’t happened. But that charade lasted less than a minute. He had to say something. “I’m sorry about last night,” he said. “I know better than to break down like that. You know I’d never dream of acting like that in front of another Nation, but with everything going on… no, I know there’s no excuse. I’m sorry.”

The events of the previous night flooded back with an unsettling vividity. “I know you do.” Prussia averted his eyes. This had been precisely the aftermath he’d been afraid of: apologetic mumbles over the smallest reminders of events and anxious looks exchanged over cups of morning coffee, all over something that came to people as naturally as snow in winter. 

“Let’s move on from that.” He said offhandedly, getting to his feet. “What you want for breakfast? Working on an empty stomach won’t be permitted for as long as I’m around to tell you off for it.”

With a look of amusement, Germany crossed his arms over his chest. “You’re not my mother. I can make my own damn…” His protests died at the sight of his brother’s expression. He threw up his hands. “Fine, fine. I’ll eat whatever you make for me. I’m not fussed.” He muttered something under his breath about how Prussia had no leg to stand on when he barely had anything besides coffee in the morning. 

Just when he thought he’d gotten away with his complaint staying out of earshot, Prussia placed his hand over his heart in a dramatic parody of indignation. “Mutti will get the wooden spoon if you speak to her with such disrespect! Such manners this child has, good grief!” The guise fell away with a laugh as he shook his head and turned on his heel. “Just you wait,” he shook his fist from the doorway. “I’ll make such a good breakfast that you’ll be kissing my shoes, just to have another bite of my cooking!”

The boasting continued from down the hall, but Germany just rolled his eyes. He made a signature at the bottom of the page. He’d hated doing paperwork before the war. It was tedious and a waste of time. But he’d started doing it obsessively over the past few years to keep his mind off the failing war effort.

He was only distracted by Prussia later, rapping his knuckles against the doorway to announce himself before letting himself in with a premature grin of self-satisfaction. 

Germany’s stomach growled at the smell of a hot breakfast. He looked up and smiled, taking the food slightly quicker than might have been necessary. “You are like my mother,” he teased. He took one bite if the eggs, though, and everything but the food was forgotten. 

“Well, someone has to be,” Prussia retorted, unable to hold back a smile of his own. 

“Thank you, though.” His voice was muffled through a mouthful of breakfast. 

“Anytime.” Regardless of the topic at hand, Prussia sneaked glances at the tiny typewriter print of his brother’s papers with a squint. 

But he wasn’t slick; noticing his efforts, Germany handed him the papers he’d been reading. “It’s not all that interesting. Financial reports, some updates on the Ostfront. They want me to go out and fight with the men, but of course, they’re saying it in the most passive-aggressive way they can.” He rolled his eyes. “I might have to before I get sent a draft card. We’re not doing well out there, as you can see.” 

Prussia drew a breath through his teeth after a hum of agreement. “I can.” He set the papers down. “Honestly… I’m surprised that Stalin was gullible enough to agree to the Molotov–Ribbentrop Pact in the first place,” he trailed off his words with a hiss of a laugh. “Give a starving dog a bone, and it’ll bite through your hand next once it’s chewed through it.” He shuffled the papers into a straight pile. “Too bad this dog is too stupid to let go of Russia’s hand before it freezes to fucking death.” His smile lacked any of its usual humour as his eyes flickered up to Germany again. 

Despite the graveness of the situation at hand, Germany’s lip twitched upwards. “Definitely,” he agreed, leaning back slightly. “We don’t have any other options than to go along, though… I doubt I’ll be much help in this state, but I might as well go. It’d be something to do, at least, besides getting stonewalled at meetings and buried under paperwork.” But something wasn’t quite right about the summons. Something Hitler had told him was tugging at the edge of his thoughts. “As long as you can handle everything here, I might leave tomorrow morning. The sooner, the better.”

There was a tense pause. “ _ Tomorrow _ ?” Prussia’s expression flickered with doubt. 

“You told me to throw away the war  _ after  _ I found out a way to keep you standing. I’m pretty sure allowing a Russian invasion into East Prussia isn’t the way to accomplish that.”

Prussia looked as if he were about to argue, but thought better of it. “I’ll be able to take care of things while you’re gone.” His tone was as stiff as his expression. “How long will you be?” 

“A few weeks, maybe, depending on how the tide goes. I’d like to be back before the year’s end if nothing else.” Germany ran a hand through his hair. “I’ll be fine, though. Don’t worry.”

“I know.” He nodded, forcing a smile despite the vague remnants of distress that he still felt. It was normal, he convinced himself. It always was normal, even if acknowledgement of the fact didn’t ease the burden he felt. “You know... I don’t think Russia will exactly be the happiest to see your face after everything that’s happened... So promise me that you’ll take the necessary precautions, alright?”

“Of course I will,” Germany promised. “I’ll be about as safe as someone can be on the battlefield.”

* * *

While Germany packed a suitcase, his mind wandered to the conversation he’d had with Hitler. “ _ At least your brother’s done something with his life. He’d be a better Germany than this child I’m saddled with. _ ” And several minutes later, as a total non sequitur, “ _ When the Holy Roman Empire fell in battle, you took his place in a way, did you not? _ ” He didn’t want to, but his mind had made the connection. He gripped the Iron Cross around his neck in a clammy palm.

The sound of paper shuffling under Prussia’s obsessive observation had fallen into silence, and he could only ever faintly hear the sound of the grandfather clock ticking from the hallway. The sound of footsteps picked up from his office, growing louder until they stopped in his doorway. Next, his brother’s voice. “Hey,” Prussia started awkwardly. “Did you forget something?” The hesitation apparent in his voice left him sounding like an imposter or his brother. “It just kind of got quiet in here all of a sudden.”

Germany looked up, blinking to focus his eyes. Making sure that Prussia was still himself. “No, I’m fine. Don’t worry about it.” His shaking hands deceived him. “To be completely honest, I’m scared shitless. How did you ever go to war without help?” He looked over his shoulder, catching sight of the papers in his brother’s hands, the plea in his brow. “You look upset. Look, I’m sorry. Believe me, I’d much rather stay here and help you regain your power, but I have orders, passive-aggressive as they might be. I can’t ignore them.”

Prussia raised his hand. “You don’t have to explain yourself to me.” If anyone understood, it would be him. “I looked through the plans on the Ostfront.” Germany’s heart sank as Prussia continued. “Nothing is going to be gained by you going out there. At best, it’s a liability with all of the room of error in these plans,” 

Germany pressed his lips together, glancing away. “Oh, believe me, I know. But it’s too late to be changing strategies suddenly.” 

“Look… If I can, I’ll try and see what adjustments I can make while you’re gone,” he scoffed. “Wish me luck, though.” 

Germany had to bite his lip to keep from raging about how futile that was. He locked his suitcase shut. “If you can, I’d appreciate it. But I’m not sure how much you’d be able to do.” 

“Hence my wishes for good luck?” Prussia griped, following his brother out of his room. 

“Right. Good luck.” Prussia only regarded him with a blank stare and no answer. Germany cleared his throat. “I’ll call tonight and have them send a car here,” he said absently as he made a move to walk downstairs. He’d sold his car just after the last war to help pay reparations. 

“Wh- Wait a minute.” Prussia stammered, lifting a finger to point at him. “You’re of more importance in the Reichstag... So why is it that you’re going to battle instead of me? You’re the one who has more of a say what happens after all.” His eyes narrowed suspiciously as Germany refused to look at him, resting his head on the doorjamb and trying to still his shaking hands.

“How am I supposed to just start your job tomorrow when I have no idea of half the things happening!? I have to go through your damn papers to get an answer out of you or anyone else for that matter!” 

Germany couldn’t start crying again. He had more dignity than would allow for that. There was a melancholy defeat in the tone of his voice. “You may not have realized this, but he respects you more than he does me. Even our appearances don’t change that. He hopes I’ll die out there. And to be frank, I just might.” This was the last thing he’d wanted to tell him, but Prussia should know what was on the table. “Nobody fully understands how nationhood works, not even us. If Prussia falls and I die, then for all we know, it’s just a matter of inserting peg A into hole B and, as far as Hitler’s concerned, that’s just the best outcome.”


	11. Death Sentence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another week with shitty internet connections for me and @ieve leaving her holiday in China, but we got the chapter out on time. Sort of. Depending on which one of us you ask.  
We're sorry for leaving you on a cliffhanger last week, but actually no, we're not. To make up for it, this chapter is twice as long. It's definitely to make up for the cliffhanger last week and not just because there was no smooth breaking point that would make these chapters equal length. Definitely did the extra-long chapter on purpose.

“_The best outcome_.” 

Prussia felt as if he’d been thrown into a freezing bath. His muscles seized, and he fought with all his might against the shock that mainlined into his heart. 

“I’m not alive for the sake of cleaning your messes.” Despite the clarity in his voice, panic teetered in it, as if it were fighting in his throat against calm. It spread to his hands like a disease, leaving them trembling. He saw the suitcase in Germany’s still fist, the melancholic acceptance in his eyes, and sensed the complete and utter lack of outward fear in him. The sickness won out. “Why didn’t you tell me about this earlier, huh!?” Prussia made a swipe at Germany’s suitcase, delirium taking over. 

“No-” Germany held tight to his luggage. “I didn’t tell you because I knew you would react this way. Gilbert, put those down.” It felt like talking to a toddler who thought hiding things would keep his father from going to work. He pried the suitcase out of Prussia’s hand. Prussia made a noise through his teeth like a scorned tomcat. “I have to go, but I don’t intend to die in fucking Lithuania, of all places. Please, just relax. I’m strong enough to handle this, okay? This isn’t Austerlitz, and I’m not Holy Rome.” 

"How dare you," Prussia’s grip on Germany’s suitcase tightened. “Don’t you ever, _ever_ fucking compare yourself to him!” he said through his teeth. He could see his desperation in the reflection of Germany’s eyes. They suddenly felt too piercing, and he dropped his gaze to his white knuckles. "Don't you dare remember him like that.” He finally released the suitcase. “He was never weak.” 

Germany nodded. “I know that. Neither am I.” He would’ve laughed at his defensiveness had he been crueler. “Don’t worry about me,” he said. “I had the best teacher on these matters. I’m not exactly helpless.” He leaned forward and embraced Prussia. “I’m not leaving until tomorrow anyway, so you have all day to fuss over me.”

Against every iota of tenseness that had woven itself under his skin, Prussia found it in himself to ease into the embrace. “At least we have that.” A laugh escaped him, though whether it was one born of stress or relief, he could no longer differentiate. Maybe it was best not to. 

He’d become so tall so quickly- grown into an adult before he even resembled one. Perhaps there was some faith to be held in his judgement. 

Germany didn’t want to pull away. They’d never been apart for more than a week at a time, and even that had been torment. The separation itself was different, as well. In place of self-assured Prussia headed off to a battle that he was sure to win, and Germany left at home to worry was Prussia trying to convince himself that Germany would be fine and Germany himself, sure of his impending death. He held his brother so tight that it felt the imprint of his body would remain. “I’ll miss you,” he whispered. 

There was a strange spasm in Prussia’s throat as it tightened. “You too.” It was all he could say without his voice teetering to the side of instability. He buried his face in his brother’s shoulder as if it would stop his eyes from prickling. “You better write letters.” His voice was muffled. 

“Of course I will,” Germany said, holding back tears of his own. “I’ll write as often as I can.” Neither brother wanted to release their grip on the other. Germany choked back a sob and murmured, “I love you, Brother.” It was the first time in years he’d said it aloud.

It was nothing but the glass shards hidden in Prussia’s throat that stopped him from saying the words back. Instead, he tightened his embrace, holding his younger brother as if he were the glue of the stitches holding him in one piece.

Of course, nations could survive physical conditions no human could. But how many times had Prussia wondered what removing his mask during a phosgene gas attack might do, or a round of gunfire between the eyes? What could his little brother endure? Prussia opened his mouth to return the words, but a dry sob was all that came out instead. 

Fuck. Prussia never cried. At least, never in front of him. “I’ll be okay,” Germany promised, tensely. “Fuck, don’t cry.” This was wrong. They did eventually have to let go, and Germany did so reluctantly, still trying to reassure his brother and stop those unnatural tears. But before he could say anything of any substance, he was pushed back with a bodily shove. 

“Don’t give me that!” Prussia’s face burned with shame. “I’m not crying!” He sounded more determined to convince himself than Germany. “I’m fucking serious; they’re just hiccups!”

Germany laughed. He was no good at choosing his battles (or wars) but knew it was time to give this one up. “Of course they are,” he said. “I would never insult you like that.” He shook his head in amused exasperation. “Really, though, I’ll be okay. Just trust me.” He looked his brother in the eye, and for the first time realized that their eyes were at the same level. Were they the same height? Germany smiled. “Hey, Gilbert,” he said, gesturing.

He couldn’t stifle a laugh as Prussia raised a brow, visibly confused, looking him over, loudly asking, “What?” and then… There it was. Prussia froze. It didn’t take him longer than a second to straighten his back and bring his hand to the crown of his head. Germany only squared his shoulders as Prussia’s hand finally touched his brows. 

There was a moment of silence, Prussia straightening his back absurdly and checking once again. Germany had to clasp his hand over his mouth to stop laughing at the dumbfounded expression that crossed Prussia’s face. 

“Wait…” Prussia pulled away, placing his hands on his hips. “Who gave you permission to grow to my height!?” he jabbed a finger into Germany’s chest. If it wasn’t for the smile in his eyes, anyone else but Germany would have assumed anger. 

It wasn’t often that a laugh this good came. A deep, rolling laugh that came straight from the belly and shook your whole body. Germany’s cheeks hurt from the uncontrollable grin. It wasn’t even that funny, but the alternative was to cry, and a good German never cried. He grinned at his brother, eyes glinting with mirth. “By the time I get back,” he forced out through guffaws. “I’ll probably be taller!”

If Prussia had appeared surprised earlier, it had been nothing compared to how completely and utterly thunderstruck he looked now. “Hey!” His conversation with France resurfaced in his mind, and with it, the urge to kick him. “The only way you’re going to outgrow me is by strutting around in a pair of high heeled shoes that women wear!” 

“Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Germany fought back another string of laughs and sighed deeply. “Oh, don’t fight nature, big brother. It was only a matter of time before I overtook you.” He wiped the happy tears from his eyes. “Fuck, I’ll miss this. The Russians have no sense of humor.”

Prussia blew a breath through his lips, smiling. “Can’t say I blame them,” he started, smiling. “It’s their damn weather, I swear… Probably leaks into their dispositions, you know.” A grin overtook his face and for a flicker of a second, he wondered, could he (or anyone) feel so light with what was looming overhead? He chose to sweep the thought under the rug. “But really, coming back to all of this... That’s just one more thing to look forward to.”

_ If I come back. _ No, the mood was bleak enough without him tearing open that particular scab. “Definitely.” Paws scratched at the back door. He stood to open the door and allow his dogs inside. They jumped on him, trying to lick his face. “I’ll miss you, too- hey, no nipping!” He knelt to scratch them behind the ears.

“Don’t worry, I’ll give them a lot of attention to make up for you not being there.” Prussia smiler, giving Aster a scratch behind the ears. In the corner of the room by the door, the suitcase stood like an obedient soldier, briefly forgotten, but God. Ever so fucking present. 

“You’d better.” Germany stood up and stretched out. “I think it’s getting about time to eat.” 

“Sure,” he shrugged. Food didn’t feel like a great need at the moment, but Germany had already walked into the kitchen. He tailed him unenthusiastically, the dogs following with wagging tails. “Want to take the dogs for a walk later?” 

“That sounds great,” Germany agreed. “They’d enjoy it, and it’ll be nice to get out of the house. We’ll have a chance to talk as well.”

_ Talk about what? _ Prussia wanted to ask. _ The fact that you might not come back, or finally acknowledge this strange game of pretend we’re both playing? _ He willed his mind away from the subject with a hum of acknowledgement. “Is there anything you want in particular?”

Germany hummed. “We could heat up some wurst?” He swore he was turning into a parody of himself, and Prussia seemed to agree, scoffing. 

“Should’ve known.” He muttered to himself, continuing to search before eventually finding what he was looking for and holding it up. “Lucky for you, it looks like we still have some left.”

“Don’t judge me,” he said, plucking it from his hands. “It’s not my fault you made this for me so much.”

“And, it’s not my fault you took such a liking to my cooking that I had to make it for you all the damn time.” Prussia shot back with a humored grin. “But, I will take the blame for being so great at everything I do,” He clasped his hands to his chest and batted his lashes.

Germany made a noise of revulsion. “No, you were just hopeless at cooking, and wurst was the only thing you could make that was edible.” A smug grin spread across his face until the last word. 

Prussia waved him off wildly. “Lies and slander!” In spite of his words, every burnt dinner, every cooking mishap in his brother’s youth came to mind. “Look, alright, alright. As previously established, I’m no Francis. But in my defense, I was too busy kicking ass left, right, and centre while being generally fucking marvelous to learn any of that kind of elaborate shit!” 

“Well, France was once the strongest military power in Europe, and he’s an amazing cook,” he mentioned insouciantly, turning a sausage over. He could see Prussia still in the corner of his eye. “You don’t have any excuse.” He had the urge to stick his tongue out in true younger brother fashion, but Prussia had already thrown his hands up in defeat. 

“Well, fine!” he ceded. “Perhaps I’m not the best cook in the world, but at least I’d never eat frog legs and esse… esecars… What are they called again?” He shut his eyes in concentration as his mind screeched over his rusted French. “Snails! Whatever the fuck he calls them!” 

“Don’t act stupid to make your point. You speak French, you know they are called escargot. And they’re not that bad. I had them a few times at his place.” He ignored the look of offence on Prussia’s face.

“Don’t call me stupid! Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve had to speak that phlegm language?” Germany only rolled his eyes in answer, and Prussia harrumphed. “Well, at least food won’t be an issue for you from now on,” he continued, eyeing the food on the stove. “Next time we’re out of food, I’ll just go into the garden and find some earthworms for you with no fuss, küken.” 

Germany just sighed, a smile on his face. “Oh shut up.” He watched the sausages cook on the stove and turned them over, breathing in the smell.

Glancing over at the wurst, Prussia opened the cabinet and pulled out two plates. “Hey, that looks just about ready, doesn’t it?” He pointed at the pan. 

“They’re ready,” Germany agreed. He took the plates and divided up the sausages. His stomach growled. “Smells good.” He grabbed the mustard from the refrigerator and poured some on his plate before going to sit down, just as Prussia slid him the cutlery. 

“Yeah, it does…” Prussia agreed, taking the seat opposite. “Thanks for cooking, by the way.” 

“Sure. I don’t mind.” He took a bite, trying to force his thoughts away from his death sentence, on the here and now, where he was with his brother, he wasn’t ill anymore, and they were happy. That was all he could allow himself to think about. “It’s not as good as yours,” he said.

Prussia flashed a smile at the comment, before taking a bite. “It’s all wurst in the end,” he said simply. Despite the turn in his stomach urging him to reject the food, he sawed off another piece. 

On the other side of the table, Germany was starving. He shoveled food into his mouth, reminded suddenly of some court dinner when he was young. He’d forgotten to eat all day, and by the time the feast rolled around, his table manners were practically nonexistent. Prussia had been furious. He slowed his pace, noticing his brother picking apart the contents of his plate. He reached for his hand, the one beneath jolting. 

“Are you sure it’s alright? You need to eat, you know. You can’t neglect your health while looking after mine.”

Prussia gave him a look of profound confusion. “I am eating.” He pointedly stabbed some sausage onto his fork. It was shovelled into his mouth and swallowing, with as little as two chews. “I’m just not exactly ravenous right now.”

Germany sighed. He finished eating his own food, surprised at how quickly it had gone. “Sorry, I just worry about what will happen while I’m gone.”

“I’ve been alive for eight centuries, Ludwig. I think I know how to look after myself.” 

There was no reply for a few long moments. Germany didn’t want to think about what could happen to Prussia- to either of them- while he was gone. “You’re right,” he said finally. “I’m just worrying over nothing, I suppose. It’ll be fine.”

“It will,” Prussia repeated, taking in a deep breath. “You just take care of yourself. I don’t want your worry - about me nonetheless - fucking you over out there.” He took the plates as he got to his feet. If he hadn’t been hungry before, his appetite was completely gone. 

“Yes sir,” Germany replied, the Pavlovian instinct straightening his back and squaring his jaw. Prussia was perfectly capable, but it wasn’t his brother he worried about. It was Hitler, and how badly he could ruin things while Germany couldn’t stop him. He tried to put the thought out of his mind.

The dishes were scrubbed in uncomfortable silence, eyes sneakily wandering from one to the other until Prussia finally turned around. Germany hasn’t moved an inch, looking like a scolded child. “I know you’re scared.” Germany looked up. 

“But we still have time to negotiate and discuss what needs to be done. I don’t have the position of authority with the Führer at the moment, so I’ll happily listen to whatever you have to say.” 

“Right.” The guilty look on Germany’s face was wiped, replaced with a mirrored, false smile. “It’s mostly a matter of keeping your head down. He likes the sound of his own voice, so try to keep your mouth shut. He’ll give you as much paperwork as he possibly can, probably so that we won’t notice what we’re signing.” He shrugged. “Some laws do come our way, though. They’ll all pass eventually, but if you can hold one up for a while, do.”

“I can handle that.” Prussia replied with a sharp nod. “However, I know it’s not likely to happen, but tell me what I need to do if he brings up the camps.” 

The air in the room chilled. Germany looked down. “He’d lose the war if it meant keeping the camps up and running. If he could exterminate every Jew in Europe, and the price he had to pay was Germany, he’d do it without a second thought.” His hands clenched into fists. “I say that only to warn you: don’t get in his way.”

Prussia was rendered silent for a few moments. Though aware of the man’s animosity, Germany’s words had shaken him. “I’ll do what I can.” 

They both knew they were lying to each other. It wouldn’t get better until Germany surrendered or dissolved. “I know you will. That’s all I can ask of you.”

Prussia tried to overshadow the doubt in the air. “Oh, trust me. I will.” Prussia assured doggedly, trying to overshadow the doubt lingering in the air. “You just keep me regularly informed on what is happening in Russia and let me deal with all the rest.” Prussia crossed his arms to hide the tremors in his hands.

“Of course,” Germany replied, voice firm. He was trying far too hard to sound confident. “I’ll keep you posted. I trust you more than anyone else in the world. You’ll do fine.”

The words were enough. “I know,” Prussia answered, shoulders easing. “Now, you better fight twice as hard in Russia, to make up for me not being the-” A petulant whine from the doorway had the brothers look the other way. The dogs sat by the doorway, all wagging tails and lolling tongues. Had it been possible, Germany would’ve sworn they were pouting. He sighed, standing to grab the leashes off the hook on the wall. 

“I think they’re impatient,” he said more to himself than anyone else as he clipped the leashes onto their collars. 

“You think?” Prussia asked, holding Berlitz by the collar as Germany leashed him. 

Once all the dogs were prepared for their walk, Germany handed Aster’s to Prussia, taking Berlitz and Blackie in one hand. “Let’s go. We’ll run out of daylight soon.” If nothing else, he wanted to enjoy this walk before he left, no matter how nervous he was.

Prussia was barely able to say much with Aster enthusiastically pulling towards the front door, tail whipping his legs. “I’m coming!” he called out as the house was locked behind them. 


	12. Departure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A better name for this chapter might have been "Calm Before the Storm" or something trite like that. Still, it's nice to take a breather after an emotionally charged scene like last chapter's. Thanks for your patience as we continue getting these chapters out one at a time.

The leaves barely crunched beneath Germany’s shoes the moment they met the pavement. Too many nights of rain and steps of civilians had left some pressed into the cracks of concrete, imprinted with boot marks. There was no time left anymore for mulled wine and street vendor food. Summer’s last nail had been beaten into a coffin. Germany breathed in the late air. “It’s been so long since I could enjoy being outside,” he commented. 

Prussia nodded, casting his eyes from the setting sun that peeked in between rooftops. “It’s nice seeing you out and about again,” he agreed. “I barely see you leave your house these days except for those meetings.” 

“I know.” The last few years was almost exclusively spent indoors, as if the outside was an abstraction that only existed on the other side of the windows. “When I was younger, I was always outside. I never had to go to meetings.”

“I remember.” 

The nostalgia was painful when juxtaposed against their current moment. The pair tried not to linger on the thought too long. 

“Everything is so complicated nowadays,” Germany sighed. “But days like today, when we can just be together? I’ll miss them when I’m gone.” 

“Once this mess is over in some way or another, I think we’ll do this more often,” Prussia said absently, trying to scrape off a leaf that had stuck itself to the bottom of his shoe. Germany nodded, but his mind was elsewhere, on a more disheartening- and more likely- future scenario. “Gilbert, what if I can’t restore your authority? If I die out there, then I suppose the problem is solved, but if I survive, and I can’t convince them to listen to me, what will you do? You know I’ll try, of course, but…” He trailed off. 

Prussia could feel an interrupted breath catch in his throat. “Well…” the crease in his brow deepened, and two pairs of footsteps became one. Germany turned his head to look him in the eyes. “Then, I guess I’d have to kill you.” 

All the blood in Germany’s face drained to his feet, anchoring him to the sidewalk. He stared at his brother as he started to laugh, a rough thump to his back spurring him into motion again. “I’m kidding, lighten up!"

“Oh.” Germany smiled and let out a nervous laugh. He’d said it so seriously.

“In all honesty, though…” Prussia chewed his bottom lip in thought. “Maybe speak to the authorities myself. Maybe find a way to earn it back while I’m covering for you?” 

“If you could, I’d be thrilled.” Transferring two leashes into one hand, Germany reached to grab Prussia’s with the other, squeezing it. “Regardless, we’ll figure something out. They’re not going to take you from me if I have anything to say about the matter.”

Prussia gave Germany all he could. A small appreciative smile. “Good to know.” He squeezed his brother’s hand in return, despite the doubt that fought against the gesture. 

They walked hand in hand until the sky had started to dim. All Germany could see was the illuminated circles surrounding the streetlights. He could only imagine what Prussia was seeing, his eyesight being what it was. “Let’s go back,” he said, tugging on the dog’s leashes and turning around. The pair said little on the way home, save for inane remarks on anything that caught their eye. God knew, small talk as much as they both despised it was the only thing holding them together at present. They’d never been good at pretending things were normal or alright. Once the front door locked behind them, Germany knelt to release the dogs and watched them settle in the living room as he put the leashes away. He didn’t even have the heart to order them off the couch.

“What time do you expect to be leaving?” 

“Ah.” Germany thought for a moment. “The driver just said early in the morning. He didn’t give a time, but I’ll probably prepare to leave around six. But you don’t have to wake up with me. You can sleep in.” God knows Prussia deserved it, with how hard he’d been working.

“Feel free to wake me up if you want,” Prussia said, eyeing the suitcase. That goddamned reminder. “I can’t promise I’ll be great company, but I don’t mind waking up early.” He made a move to walk up the stairs. 

Germany yawned. “Either way, it’s getting late. We should get some sleep.” Prussia only nodded, making a move towards the stairs without another word.

“Gil-” Prussia stopped where he was. Germany hesitated, then took a few steps forward to give his brother a quick hug. It didn’t feel natural. As if they were embracing through cellophane. “Goodnight.” 

The possibility of this being the last hug he’d give his brother briefly crossed Prussia’s mind. His arms squeezed around him tighter. “Goodnight.” But no. Germany would come back, and life would return to the way it had always been. And on that thought, Prussia let go.

When Germany got to bed, he indulged in a habit he hadn’t had much time for since before the Great War: prayer. Maybe the lack of it, and his doubt in its efficacy, was why he was failing so magnificently. He knelt by his bed the way Prussia had taught him to as a child and murmured his prayer under his breath. After everything he’d done over the past few years, to die in Russia would be no less than deserved, but still, he prayed for mercy, that he would be spared, that Prussia would be okay. It had been ages since he’d prayed, and though he was sure he’d forgotten something or messed it up somehow, he lowered his hands with a whispered “Amen,” and climbed into bed.

It was still dark out when Germany woke. His clock read about 5 in the morning, so he sat up in bed, rubbing the crust from his eyes and dressed like a robot whose function it was to put on clothing. Once his bootlaces were tight, he got up and paused outside his brother’s room. He didn’t want to wake him, but he did want to say goodbye. The memories of waking up as a child without realizing Prussia had gone without telling him still haunted him. He opened the door and leaned over the bed, raising an eyebrow at the way Prussia’s limbs were all askew. He pulled the blanket back up to cover most of his brother. “Goodbye, Gilbert. Hopefully, I’ll see you again soon.” He stood and began to walk away only to be stopped when Prussia’s sleep slurred voice cut through the silence of their bedroom. 

“You’re leaving?” 

Germany looked over his shoulder. “Oh. Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.” He returned to his brother’s side and patted his shoulder. “Go back to sleep. I’m leaving now, but I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

Prussia only nodded as consciousness briefly sparked in his mind. In the dim light of the morning, the uniform on his brother’s body had him longing for sleep again. “Please be safe,” were the words that slipped past his teeth as unconsciousness dragged him back into rest. 

Germany nodded, leaving the room without another word. How could he promise such a thing? He couldn’t promise anything of his safety; if the _Führer_ got his way, it would all be a lie. 

He stepped into the car that was to take him to his station, silently staring out the window and giving one-word answers whenever the driver tried to talk to him.


	13. Face to Face with Russia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Due to us not putting out a chapter last week, we've decided to put out two this week just to make it up for our readers. Thank you for bearing with us, and being oh so patient, and enjoy! Chapter 14 will be up by the end of the day.

Germany’s impression of the Baltic hadn’t changed since the days of his pact with Russia; it was far too cold. How Prussia managed to live here, even part-time, he didn’t know. He shivered as he stepped out of the car, greeted the commander of the unit, and started unpacking in his tent.

His orders were clear, but nonsensical at the same time. Focus on fighting Russia directly. The mortal soldiers would sort out their portion of the battle themselves, so do not engage with them. It was without a doubt, the stupidest plan he’d ever heard. Russia certainly wouldn’t be following any such directions. But when he mentioned his concerns to the commander, he was met with a grim, “If you want to disobey the Führer’s orders, on your head be it.” That was enough to put him in a more obedient mood.

With a gun strapped to his belt, a knife in his boot, Germany started a trek into the snow. If only they’d splurged on enough money for thicker coats.

Hours later, the sun was sinking, and Germany couldn’t feel his face. His hands were frozen to his revolver. It shouldn’t have taken this long to find him.

There was a faint click, a light shuffle. Way too far from Germany to be noticed.

Hidden behind the scarce leaves of the trees, Russia watched Germany through his scope. He moved his gun as Germany walked over his shoulders, knees and throat, lightly tapping his finger against the trigger in thought. Had it been possible, he would’ve shot all three points with one bullet. Whether it was the cold, or the knowledge that he was about to shoot an old love, Russia found himself shaking slightly.

Germany felt something odd about this piece of land. Even with the cold, there should have been animals running around or birdsong in the air. The only reason for it to be as silent as it was would have been the presence of a predator. He stopped in his tracks to look around.

Russia’s heart stopped as Germany’s footsteps had. He could almost see it as if it were happening to him this very moment. His head turning from the left and the right, looking for something. Perhaps he’d frown, noticing that something wasn’t right and then, their eyes would meet. Russia’s heart picked up speed at the very thought. At that point, there would be nothing stopping them from opening fire at one another until one of them hit the ground. The time to strike was now. 

_Click. _

**Bang**.

“Gah!” The pain shut off every part of Germany’s brain that was capable of thought. The next thing he was aware of, his arms were buried up to the elbows in snow and his knee was throbbing. He could barely move it- when he tried, shards of bone poked at his skin from inside. Where was his gun? Right, still in his hand. Thank god he hadn’t dropped it. It took too long to realize what happened, between the ache in his knee and the cold seeping to his bones. “Russia!” he snarled.

Though Germany heard the twigs snapping, he couldn’t tell where the sound was coming from through the haze of agony. An imposing figure caught his periphery, and he aimed his gun at what was probably the chest. “Stay where you are!” he shouted. He’d been trying to sound intimidating, but the words came out sounding small instead. “I don’t want to hurt you, but I will if I have to.”  
Russia’s face would have been unreadable. with his scarf pulled up to his nose, if not for the steel in his gaze. Although he didn’t move further, he held his gun tightly in his hand. “Will you?” he asked coldly. “You didn’t seem to have much hesitation with ‘hurting me’ when you lead your troops over my borders.”

Germany flinched. He wanted to plead with Russia, assure him that he’d never wanted to betray him. He’d warned the Führer about crossing Russia; it wasn’t his fault Hitler wouldn’t listen! But he had more pride than that. “All’s fair in love and war.” Had this been any other battle, Prussia would have come tearing out of the woods behind him and defended him. But he was alone here. There was nothing, but trees and biting wind and the possibility of death was as real as the gun in his hand. “I don’t want to have to fight you, Russia- Ivan.”

“But you are going to have to, no?” Russia said matter-of-factly, eyeing the gun in Germany’s hand, yet daring to take a couple of cautious steps forward. “It does hurt me, turning against old friends... But defending your land is your duty, just as it is mine to defend my own. Perhaps even push past your defenses and take your capital.” Russia continued softly, index finger curling around the trigger of his gun.

The slight movement sent Germany’s heart racing. “Russia, please,” he gasped. He managed to back himself against a tree and force himself to stand despite the sick pain in his useless knee, the vertigo that made his head spin. “We can settle this without fighting, can’t we?” Russia shifted his weight, and the panic seized Germany’s body. Without thinking, he pulled the trigger twice- warning shots. Stains bloomed on Russia’s coat- his shoulder and his gut. The forest echoed the sound.

For a brief moment, there was silence, Russia’s bright eyes on him. Germany briefly wondered if he’d become one with the snow. A betrayed and shocked marble statue.

And then it came. A sound, loud enough to have echoed to the campgrounds on both sides. A bellow that tore itself from Russia’s throat that threatened to rip it apart. A scream that threatened to burst Germany’s eardrums.

Russia doubled over, his hand on his abdomen, stumbling backwards to lean on a thin birch for support. He was silent for a moment, save for the small gasps he made as he inspected the damage. His teeth were bared when he raised his head, irises so pale that they would’ve blended into the whites of his eyes had they not been so red tinged. “Why did you do that!?” There was a plea in his scream, as if he were confused. “You just said you didn’t want to hurt me!”

But of course, naïveté had been his downfall, not once but twice with Germany. He missed the man who promised him spring flowers and bountiful harvests with a signature, rather than the liar who lay before him. He held his smoking gum as if it were a lifeline.  
It was all he needed to make his final choice.

“Your kind…” Russia started through his teeth. “They always fucking lie!” His expression was twisted into an ugly mask of hurt as he raised his gun with his injured arm. There was no hesitation in his fingers when he pointed the gun towards Germany.

**Bang.**

The gun landed in the snow, and Germany stared down at his ruined hand. The pain hadn’t set in yet. He crossed his arm over his chest in a sad parody of a shield. What would Prussia do? He’d keep Russia distracted while he waited for Germany to back him up. But there was no backup coming. He just needed time to heal a little and think of an escape. “You don’t want to kill me,” he began. “Trust me, Hitler would love for me to die out here. He wants my brother to take my place, you know. Would you rather fight him?” It was pathetic, relying on Prussia’s reputation to protect himself. But if it worked… To his disappointment, there was only a scoff.

“Why would I kill you?” The smile on Russia’s face was a cruel mimicry of mercy. “Before I drive your army out, I’m going to make sure you learn a little about the meaning of suffering.” Germany shuddered at Russia’s words. “There should be some fun stories to tell your freak of a brother if you come back alive, that is.”

Germany’s eyes darted around for some escape. There was only the blank canvas of white that would lead him further into enemy territory, and a sadistic maniac blocking his way back to camp. “Russia,” he pleaded. “You know I never wanted bad blood between us. I’ll take my troops out right now if you just please let me go. We’ll collect Army Group North and leave the moment we’re able.” As if he had any such power in his military. He couldn’t order a retreat.

“Really?” Russia leaned down to pick up Germany’s discarded gun, studying it with a brief flicker of interest. “I didn’t want things to get to such a point, but you ought to know that there is no reason for me to believe you now.” As far as he knew, if he let Germany go, he would feign retreat before unleashing the wrath of his army. He couldn’t afford the risk. “Besides, what would Mister Hitler think about that?” he asked, plucking the bullets from Germany’s revolver.

While Russia studied his gun, Germany reached into his bloodied leather boot for his switchblade. Though his hands shook, he managed to pull it out and open it, chest heaving. All Germany could do was wait for Russia to attack. He hid the knife up his sleeve, ready to pull it out when Russia got close enough.

By some miracle, he never noticed. There was no way he could’ve looked at him with such pity, such longing for forgiveness, and hope for warmer seasons, had he seen the knife. One wrong move a second sooner, and Russia’s blizzard-like anger would’ve frozen him in ice forever. Perhaps he would be discovered by archaeologists centuries later as a dried-up carcass. But no. Whether it had been the terror in his eyes, or the clouds of breath he breathed, something in Russia had thawed.

“I’m sorry I had to do that.” He gestured to Germany’s injured hand, as if almost embarrassed. “All I want is to know what you are doing here.” He moved a half-step closer, pointing his gun at Germany precariously. “Why you?”

Germany bared his teeth. “How stupid do you think I am?” he snarled, though his eye twitched as the barrel stared him down. “Get back,” he warned.

Of course, he wouldn’t have heeded that warning. The blade dropped into his hand and he swung it through the air, aiming for his chest. He misjudged the distance, though, and stumbled. Still, the blade sliced through Russia’s leg. He used the momentum to roll past Russia and stood on his good leg, now finally closer to camp. If he needed to, a retreat was no longer blocked.

Taken by surprise at the sudden injury, Russia cried out loudly and stumbled back onto the ground. Catching the silver-red glint of the blade, he wondered how on earth Germany had concealed a knife without him noticing. Excellent teachers, perhaps.  
Panic momentarily gripped him when he saw him stand on his own, and Russia tried to get to his own feet before the situation worsened.

Blood dripped off the blade into the snow in front of Germany. There was one way he could think of to keep Russia off his back, maybe long enough to make some progress toward camp, get him to disengage. He turned the knife in his fingers to hold it by the blade. Before Russia could react, he threw it in the general direction of his thigh. He limped away as quickly as he could, which admittedly was still slow. He heard the thud as Russia fell back into the snow with a scream. He got him.

It was like running in a dream, where no matter how hard one pumped his legs and tried to escape the unseen pursuer, space seemed to stretch and no step was large enough to make any progress. But Germany had made it farther than he thought he would. Could it be that Russia was allowing him to escape? The thought lightened his heart. He remembered afternoons spent in Russia’s place in Moscow, playing chess and discussing whatever came to mind. The certainty that they could be the world’s greatest power couple, if only they could convince their bosses not to hate each other so much. What they’d shared had been a marriage of one kind or another. Germany still had a ring hidden in his room somewhere, he recalled. If they could get through this, then they’d be fine, wouldn’t they? If Russia could allow him to escape, they could-

His bones shattered when the bullet pierced his skin. The scream he released was barely human. He couldn’t breathe through the snow, but pushing himself up was useless. The least he could do for himself was look Russia in the face when he killed him. He barely managed to roll over and see blood seeping into the snow like ink blotting in paper. The only relief was that the snow was cold enough to numb the pain, even minutely.

A heavy sigh of relief ghosted over Russia’s lips, and he closed his eyes for a moment to let his racing heartbeat even out. Biting his bottom lip to distract himself, he slowly stood up with a his and began to shuffle over to where Germany now lay. But this time Russia stopped a safe distance away. “You know…” his breath became clouds in the air as he huffed with exhaustion. “I should have blown your hands off the moment I saw you.” He kicked Germany’s maimed ankle.

“Gah!” Germany pulled his ankle away, although he could move it far. Pathetic. Prussia would have been so disappointed to see the product of his life’s work flinching and helpless like this. “Just kill me!” He snapped, and in a moment of grim shock he realized he actually meant it. He could escape. He could be out of Hitler’s grasp. Besides, his brother could handle Germany better than he ever could. “You know you want to. So quit toying with me and just do it, damn you!”

Russia’s face was fixed into a mask of abhorrence and second hand embarrassment. He fought against the urge to clasp his hands over his ears, block out the present begging of a past love and friend. “**SHUT UP**!” His hand trembled as he shoved the gun into Germany’s face. His breath hissed through his teeth as he fought to regain himself. Even Germany had managed to fall quiet for a moment. “As much as it would satisfy me to hurt you, I’m not going to be so kind as to give you what you want. I want something more useful than exerting petty revenge on old friends... I want information about your plan of attack.” Germany’s eyes lowered along with Russia’s weapon.

Was it acceptable to betray his country and his people in pursuit of a personal victory? Even if that victory was his death, could he bear to sell out the people who had built him? No, he decided. “I was just told to come here and fight you directly. He didn’t tell me anything. You have to believe me. The man’s insane, he sent me out here to die!”

Russia was quiet for a while, expression thoughtful as he considered the legitimacy of what he heard. “Oh.” He took another step back just to ensure his own safety. “I see.” His eyes flickered through the brambles, searching for the colour of a uniform. Noticing none, his shoulders sagged in relief. “Makes sense - I suppose your job here is done for now, then?” He fastened his gun into his holster almost contently.

Germany eyed Russia warily, pretty sure he didn’t like the implications of what he was saying. “Yes, I suppose,” he replied. The words Russia had said earlier crossed his mind: “I am going to make sure you learn a little about the meaning of suffering.” He shuddered. “I am sorry, Ivan. I truly wanted our…” He refused to use the word ‘marriage.’ “Our pact to last. I thought we could be allies, but the Führer insisted.”

“Can’t be helped,” Russia said simply. Had they not been fighting and shooting holes into one another, Germany could’ve sworn that he sensed an odd air of melancholy from Russia.  
He recalled their conversations, of the perpetual isolation that smothered Ivan, and how after briefly escaping it, he had no choice but to return to the frigid discontentment of his own company. “You did what you have to do, as do I.”

Germany nodded. A nation always had to pay for their leader’s mistakes. He had to take whatever Russia deemed acceptable for the atrocities committed against him. “Do what you must. I won’t fight it.” Prussia would have been disgusted.

To his surprise, it was a benevolent smile that lit up Russia’s face. “Oh, no!” he waved him off almost cheerfully. “If you expect me to hurt you more than I already have, I won’t!” He raised his hands and took one, two, three steps backwards.

Germany’s eyes flicked up, brows furrowed, immediately on guard. And then he realized. In the state Germany was in, Russia could turn his back and leave him to bleed out and eventually freeze to death. If Germany did die permanently, it would be a painful way to go. If he didn’t… It might as well be endless torture. Germany shook his head minutely. “You can’t- Ivan, please.” He began to crawl towards him, ready to begin begging.

Russia simply stared back into Germany’s stricken eyes, but simply shrugged as if leaving him to freeze to death was a pesky obligation rather than an individual choice. “Sorry, but you’re too heavy to carry,” he apologized with a tone of deluded sincerity before limping away, waving over his shoulder.

Germany’s shivers had become violent. He watched the tan-clad back retreat into the fog and the coming storm and managed to snarl through chattering teeth, “You son of a BITCH! Get back here, damn you!” But Russia was out of sight.

How was he going to get back to camp? One leg was totally out of commission, the knee shattered, the ankle twisted nearly a full rotation around. His hand still throbbed. All he could see in any direction was a lone dead tree and the white void beyond.  
Still, Germany managed to crawl through the snow, feeling almost like he was swimming. His journey faded into the agony of ice-needles piercing through his jacket and skin into his muscles. He had to breathe through his mouth because the moisture in his nose had frozen solid. He could feel nothing from his elbows to his fingertips, nor his knees to his toes. More than once, he tried to walk, but his leg just would not support his weight.

Hope came around the same time terror did; falling darkness that meant a painful death brought into focus a pinprick of light that grew ever bigger and brighter with each forced drag forward. He was so close… But his arms would no longer move. Exhaustion had finally won out over the determination to survive. “Help!” His throat was too dry to make much noise if any. “Help me!”  
His cries were left unanswered for what seemed like hours. It just happened that a pair of soldiers patrolling the area managed to see what they assumed to have been a corpse, unconscious and as cold as the snow beneath their boots. With gloved hands trembling from the biting cold, one had eventually managed to identify the soldier by the frost embellished dog tag around his neck that simply read “Ludwig.” No surname. They declared it a miracle when one felt the faint pulse of on the side of the man’s neck and attempted to wake him from the unconscious stupor, praying that the hallucinatory effects of hypothermia had not set in just yet.

Germany opened his eyes. At first, all he could see was the gray sky. Had he come back? He must have died. There was no way he could have survived any of that. But his vision focused, and he saw the worried faces of his soldiers over him. They were strangers, yet as dear to him as children. He tried to speak, but all that came out was a wheeze. After many tries, and one of the soldiers finally giving him some water, he managed to croak “Gilbert. Prussia. Please.” He couldn’t fully grasp what was going on. All he knew was that he needed his big brother.  
The soldiers had barely made sense of what little they could make out through the howling wind, understanding only small fragments of what Germany had said, negotiating for help amongst themselves. “Call for some help!” The taller of the two barked over to his friend, who scarpered off towards the camps in search of a nurse and further assistance. Swearing under his breath, the one left hastily removed his own glove and placed it over Germany’s almost frozen hand. “Stay conscious! What is your name!?”

Germany gravitated towards the minimal warmth the soldier had to offer. He muttered his answers to the other’s questions. “My name is Ludwig. I have been the Second Reich of Germany, and am now the Third. I need my brother. You need to find Prussia. Gilbert Maria Beilschmidt.” His eyes were glazed as he fought to stay conscious.  
The soldier raised a brow before his expression slackened. Germany felt the warmth of a coat covering him. “I understand. I am unsure whether your brother is on our premises or not, but understand that we’ll get you medical attention.”

As they awaited the arrival of a medical unit, they entertained Germany with a series of unimportant questions. It was only thanks to them that he remained conscious until he was escorted back to camp. The nurses, the doctors and every other witness deemed it a miracle that he’d survived the delirium of hypothermia and his injuries.

Wounds were bandaged, telegrams and letters to loved ones were sent, and the Eastern Front remained as good as lost.


	14. New Orders

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As promised, Chapter 14!  
I mean, phew! Two chapters in one day? That's a record if I've ever seen one. Enjoy!  
\- ieve

It took days until a letter was successfully placed into Prussia’s shaking hands. With a face whiter than the paper the telegram was written on, Prussia had dropped every task at hand, rushing to the Reichstag as if his life depended on it. Of course, a shattered knee, a shot through the palm and hypothermia was nothing, but a flesh wound to their kind. But the urgency of the message had sent him running.

Heart in throat, and letter in hand, he spoke to the secretary through desperate pants. A pale and rather round moth of a woman with too much powder on her face that instructed him to; “Wait a while. He’s in a meeting at the moment.” It was only an hour later that he was given permission to walk down the lengthy hallway towards his office.

The guards knocked on the mahogany doors to a loud bark of permission. As the doors spread, Prussia prayed for the best, expecting the worst.

The Führer barely looked at Prussia. He just held up the telegram addressed to him. His voice was cold. “I thought you raised him better. A nation with your history should have taught him to fight better than this! It took only one fight with Russia to leave him half-dead, and yet our enemy has barely a scratch on him!” He slammed the telegram to his desk, finally facing Prussia with the fullness of his gaze. Before, there had always been disgust in his expression, but behind that was usually admiration, a recognition of the empire he wished to emulate. Now there was only ire. “Pack your bags. I’m sending you and a few units to the Ostfront. You are not to return until Army Group North is safe and the border is secure.” He left no room for Prussia to speak.

Of course, he had to have been right in some way. With all the paperwork stacked atop Ludwig's head over the last few years and the lack of physical training, it was no wonder he had failed. "I understand." Prussia said stiffly. A pause. “I apologize for my brother's failures... As well as my own mistakes." Prussia had almost choked on those last words. "What time will I be leaving to join him?"

“Tomorrow afternoon. Be ready.” There were no other words, only a cold silence.

* * *

By the time Prussia made it to the camp, Germany had started feeling significantly better. Despite his terrible limp, he could get around well enough. News of Prussia’s arrival had met his ears, but there had been no sight of him all morning. Restless, he sat outside his tent and waited, rubbing his hands together to stave off the cold.

Prussia’s voice was all too familiar in its teasing lilt. “I knew you’d miss me,” it said, “but getting shot just to see me?”

Germany whipped around and his face split into a smile. “I didn’t even know you were coming until this morning.” And he might have been waiting not-so-patiently for him to arrive, asking after him over and over, to the point where the nurses had sent him out of the medical tent “for fresh air” just to get rid of him. His smile faded. “Things aren’t going well. The best we can hope for is to extract Group North, by sea if we can’t reconnect, and retreat. East Prussia may be lost to us.”

Prussia squatted down beside him. “I know.” He found it hard not to stare at his injured leg, just slightly below eye level to him. “Some more troops have been called here to help fight, so hopefully they’ll be of some help.” He cupped his hands over his mouth to warm them. “That is, if the train line doesn’t get frozen solid or blown up.”

“I’ve no doubt of that,” Germany agreed. But it may not help if we are stuck using the Führer’s strategy. He doesn’t want us involved with any human soldiers. He just wants us to focus on Russia. What could have possessed him to think that that was a good idea? Trying-” He looked around to make sure they were speaking in confidence. “Trying to kill me is one thing, but taking this kind of risk? We’d have lost every war we ever fought if we never touched mortal soldiers!”

“Jesus Christ - Who the hell knows, Ludwig?” Prussia groaned, dragging his hands down his face. “I don’t know why he would’ve given you those sort of guidelines, but he never said a word about them to me.” He shifted uncomfortably on his feet. “Chances are, if he didn’t follow up with me, just forget about what he told you. It’s not like he’s going to know what you did or didn’t do, unless your commanding officer sees.”

Germany shrugged in return. “I don’t like getting involved with Russia at all. He's gotten more ruthless since the Communists took power. Before the Great War, he never would have hurt me that badly. It worries me." He shook his head. “But honestly, I'm more worried about his sisters.”

"Ah, yes. The lunatic and the country bumpkin..." Prussia sighed in mock adoration. "What of those two?"

“They’ve been fighting as well, you know?” That wasn’t so much of a surprise. “Snipers. And they’re good at what they do. I never saw them in action, but the men are terrified of them.”

Prussia pursed his lips. He'd heard of Ukraine being a rather formidable opponent when necessary, Belarus as well without a shadow of doubt... But to go as far in combat to 'terrify' an army of men, would have been impressive if not so troublesome. Prussia took a deep breath. "Well, shit."

Germany nodded. “We're completely unprepared to deal with them.” They were screwed, and they both knew it. But he wasn't about to say as much out loud. “If we can push them out of East Prussia, I'll be satisfied to return home. To hell with the Führer’s orders. Following them last time nearly got me killed.” His hand clenched into a fist by his side. “We just need to stop them from advancing.”

At this point, Prussia wanted to start yelling out of frustration, but instead bit his tongue to stop himself from saying anything he would regret later. Conflict wouldn't get them anywhere. "Personally I think it would be wise to get familiar with the area before we think up a new plan of action with the General." Prussia sighed, glancing around the tent miserably before his sight fell on Germany's leg. His eyes narrowed as he recalled his previous conversation with the Führer. "But before we even plan on that... I want to know how the hell this happened to you."

Germany had hoped they wouldn’t end up on this topic. He lowered his eyes. “I was stupid. I didn’t even think to look in the trees.” He pressed his lips together. If the men hadn’t seen me-”

"I would have lost my brother!" Prussia hissed. "Look, I understand that you were alone at the time, but we can't have another accident like this!" He stressed, rummaging around in his pocket.

Germany grit his teeth. He was an adult; he didn’t need Prussia to chastise him like a child. “I know, and I’m sorry,” he said. “It won’t happen again.” "I should hope so because last time I checked, you don't have a choice." Prussia grumbled, pulling out the telegram and handing it to Germany. His expression softened only slightly. "Look, I know how capable you are, but you have to do better than this. You're all I have, you know.”

Germany read through the telegram and crumpled it in his fist. “I wasn’t so badly hurt. They shouldn’t have sent it to you. I was so out of it that I must have been asking for you.”

Prussia sighed, but his expression didn't show much of its previous weight. "I understand, and I don't blame you for it." He shrugged, a faint beginning of a smile on his lips. "Either way, it's no longer of any importance. What's done is done. Perhaps it's even for the best."

“How?” Germany couldn’t help the twinge of annoyance in his voice. “How exactly is this for the best? I’m injured, and apparently I’m still coming back from the dead, so that particular method of reinstating you won’t work, and we’ve just sent more soldiers out to the middle of fucking nowhere to fight a losing battle!” His voice had taken on a frantic quality. He let out a breath. “Sorry.”

Prussia’s looked severely unimpressed. "At least you’re not fighting completely by yourself and have a better chance of surviving with me around.” He crossed his arms, teeth gritted.

Germany pressed his lips together. “That won’t change anything. Russia is too strong for us. You don't even come this far north at this time of year. How long do you think we'll last out here?” His voice was flat. He wouldn't even look at Prussia.

“Considering everything… Not long." Prussia murmured bitterly, picking up his bag. “But we don't have any options but to at least try to keep as many of our people alive as possible. We owe them that much.” On that note, he disappeared into the tent.

“I know,” Germany muttered, following him. “I don't remember you ever having this much trouble fighting Austria or France.” Germany thought out loud as he loosely secured the tent flap. “What’s so different?”

Prussia dropped his belongings on the floor. When he turned his head, it was to look at Germany as if he were stupid. “For one, I didn’t fight them during the winter in fucking Russia.” He shivered, drawing his coat over himself. “We also had the options to make our own fucking decisions when necessary - And military procedures weren't drawn out by some asshat with a couple years worth of experience on the field surrounded by yes men.” He turned back around to unpack, swearing under his breath.

Germany rolled his eyes. "That's encouraging," and Prussia fought the urge to shove his fist into his own mouth and scream in frustration.

"Either way, I do have some good news."

“Oh, really?” Germany raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. “And what would that be?”

Prussia’s lips pulled up at Germany’s skepticism. "I may have pulled a few strings to take advantage of the trip. I arranged to have some extra supplies brought here. Rations. Some more coats. It’s not much, but it’s the best I could do on this budget."

Something relaxed in Germany’s posture. “That is good news.” He and his men had been surviving on half rations for the past few days because of their lack of food.

“Don’t celebrate too much though. I don't know how long the new shipment of rations is going to last with the arrival of my own soldiers from the East. But it's at least something."

“Anything helps,” Germany agreed. They listened to the wind howl outside the tent for a few seconds before he spoke again. “I am sorry to have worried you. You taught me better than this.”

"Right now I'm just thankful that you're not left in a snowbank freezing to death repeatedly.”

_ Perhaps not now. _

Germany didn’t want to think of how close he’d gotten to that exact outcome.

“The way you were talking when you left..." Prussia trailed off, turning his back as he continued to unpacking.

Germany nodded, but was saved from a real answer when the flap of the tent opened. "Sir, I was sent to deliver this message to you," said a scared-looking soldier. He took the small envelope and dismissed the soldier. “It's from the Führer,” he muttered. He opened the envelope and started to read through it, but only got halfway through when he froze with the telegram in his hands. “We-” His voice cracked. He tried again. “We have orders to fight till the last man. Surrender will not be tolerated.”

Prussia’s head swivelled around so sharply, Germany was surprised to have not heard it crack. “Are you shitting me?” Prussia snatched the telegram out of his hands to read it himself. "This closes the entire deal.” His expression was blank. “They’re all going to die."

Germany put his head in his hands. They couldn’t win. They had no chance on Soviet home turf, with their army splintered and their rations dwindling. “What are we going to do?” Prussia lifted his head, dread trickling through him.

"We have two options, if this loss is inevitable. We can either take our chances and let these soldiers die in a losing battle." He steadied himself, knowing the next part would not be easy to say. "Or we save thousands of men and disobey the Führer's orders."

Germany felt sick. Saying “To hell with the Führer’s orders” was one thing when it was just frustration. To be forced to disobey orders on penalty of his soldier’s lives was quite another. “We’ll be punished for it,” he said. He tried to hide the shaking of his hands. Prussia stared down at the floor, each beat of his heart against his ribs feeling like one punch after the other. Going against the one major rule he had prioritized above all else- always obey your leader- felt like a betrayal, not just to the Führer but also to Germany and himself. "Doesn't matter.” The quiet of his voice held a hidden anger. “You make this decision. They’re your goddamn men and I can’t keep making your choices for you.”

_ Of all the times to say that, you choose now?_ Germany ran his fingers through his hair, took two fistfulls, and pulled. The pain at the roots of his hair centered him, somehow. “I-” He grit his teeth. “I don’t know! How am I supposed to choose?! If I follow his orders, my men will all die out here! If we retreat, it’s an open invitation for the Allies to push us back to Berlin! Either way, it spells death for at least one of us.”

"Ludwig, listen to me.” Prussia’s hold on his forearm was the only anchor to reality he had at present. “What you need to do right now is sit back down." Germany obeyed, though the trembling had traveled from his hands all the way up his arms. Though his lungs shuddered with each intake of breath, he forced himself to breathe.

“Gil…”

"I can’t make this choice for you, but I will walk you through it. Just breathe for now though - You’re not thinking straight right now.” Prussia’s voice nearly betrayed him, hidden fears narrowly poisoning his words. "Right now, you’re alive, and I’m here. You’re not going to be alone in this. Understand?”

Taking a few deep, shuddering breaths, Germany nodded. He forced his shaking hands to still and, after a few moments that felt like forever, he was still and in control of his panic. "What..." His voice was still thick with fear. He cleared his throat and began again. "What should I do?"

"That's exactly what we're going to figure out." Prussia drummed his fingers together in thought. "Look, disregard rules and try to tell me what is more important. Your Führer, or your people?"

“My people, of course.” There wasn't an instant's hesitation. “They are the most important thing, always. But if we surrender this battle, and the Allies take Berlin, we may as well have sacrificed the whole nation for the sake of them. Will we survive an invasion like that? Much less the aftermath.”

The thought of their immortality being threatened made Prussia's stomach turn. How did humans even leave the house, being so aware of their own fragility? “We don’t know until it happens,” he said simply. “We don't know anything, until it happens. Do what you think is best for your own people in this case, because every outcome is equally certain right now.”

Germany had a sudden urge to rush forward and embrace his brother, but reigned himself in at the last moment. He sighed and nodded. “Then we stay,” he said, resigned. “At least until we can hold our line against them.”

“Alright.” Prussia’s expression gave nothing away as he stood up. “We’re doing that then.”

Germany forced a small smile.

“God have mercy on both of us,” he muttered. He still wasn't sure he'd made the right decision, but he'd made his bed, and now he had to sleep in it.

Prussia nodded shortly, not wanting to dwell on the thought of his God for too long. _He would be so disappointed_, he thought with a heavy heart as he sat down. “God have mercy, indeed,” he added hollowly.

Forgetting God, it was the Allies they’d have to answer to when the war was over.

Germany folded his hands in his lap. “Get some rest. I’ll take the first watch.”

As much as Prussia wished to have fought him on this, he bit his tongue. He was sure that Germany's entire ordeal with Russia had already been embarrassing enough. He didn't need an older brother babying him. "Will do,” he said with a stiff smile, making his bed.

Germany returned the smile and stepped out into the chilly night. His mind kept turning to the mistakes he’d made, the leniency he’d allowed the delinquent that was now sitting pretty as the head of his country. He should have known after the Great War to keep to himself, but here he was, the would-be European conqueror, fighting just to keep his borders intact.


	15. Prussia gets a warning

By the time Germany finally turned in for the night, most of the soldiers had already switched. He could let Prussia sleep another hour. But he couldn’t keep his eyes open much longer, so he stumbled into the tent and shook Prussia awake.

“Huh?”

“Your watch,” was all Germany could say before he collapsed face down on his cot. He was completely unconscious when Prussia pulled his blanket over him and left. 

The cold shook him awake the moment he stepped outside, threatening to bite off the tips of his fingers, had he not been wearing gloves. 

He rubbed his hands together for any meagre friction they could provide, propping his rifle up against himself and taking a seat on the tree nearby. 

Through the flurry of snow that rained from the sky, he could make out a distant, far apart set row of lights from the right of a kerosine lamp. Soldiers, lined up in rows to his left keeping watch as he was. He turned his head to the right, seeing nothing past his kerosine lamp, but darkness over the periphery of the camp. 

As night went on, Prussia’s eyes continued to gravitate in the right’s direction, half expecting Russia to come walking out of it, crowned in ice and frozen nearly solid. The great titan of the East, coming to finish off Germany for good. 

The wind that whistled against the tent poles remained an unkind reminder that Russia was still out there. Prussia’s eyes continued gravitating to the right, into the uncertainty of the dark as the night went on. Almost as if half expecting Russia to come marching from it with blue tipped fingers that promised to wrap around their throats. But no. Of course. The past few days had been so quiet, and much warmer than any other day of the previous week. And yet, they’d have to be lucky enough to walk through foreign soil, and avoid any being caught by Russia every single time. But Russia would only need enough luck to find them once, and the conditions were oh, so volatile… If they were caught, so were their people, and those only had one set of lives to live… 

The thump of a hand falling on his right shoulder ripped out any remnants of drowsiness in Prussia. His body reacted before his mind had the time to catch up, left hand locking around the wrist of the assailant, and the right reaching for the pocketknife in his shoe. He felt the ripple of alarm course through the stranger’s arm when he turned to face them, yanking them towards himself and into the direct path of the knife’s point without a moment’s hesitation until - 

His breath caught in his throat as a wide pair of familiar eyes passed his. He only managed to pull his weapon out of the way before France impaled himself on it by a fraction of a second. “Jesus Christ…” The sound of Prussia’s heartbeat in his ears almost deafened him as they faced each other head on for the first time. It took a couple of recovered breaths before Prussia could speak again. “What the fuck are you doing here!?” He could feel France’s warm breath on his face with how close he stood to him. 

“Don’t yell,” France hissed. “We need to talk.” France adjusted his coat with his free hand, eyes darting over his shoulder to ensure they weren’t being watched. “The others would never want me to tell you this, but you have a right to know.” He spoke quickly, sometimes stumbling over his words. “When we win this war- don’t talk. I don’t have enough time to deal with your ego and say what I need to say.” His eyes leveled with Prussia’s. 

Prussia’s eyes flickered from France’s eyes to campsite, to the handful of soldiers he could see taking watch of the camp a mere set of yards away. France saw something akin to understanding thaw in them. “God…” he brought his frozen gloves to rub his temples, before France was pulled off balance. “Get over here,” Prussia hissed, dragging him to a blind spot behind the tent out of the sight of any soldiers on patrol duty. It was only once certain that they hadn’t been spotted, did the tension in Prussia’s shoulders ease slightly. “Okay,” he exhaled heavily, looking France in the eyes. “What did you come all the way here to tell me?” 

France continued. “When we win, we want to separate you from your brother.” He watched Prussia’s expression shift. “But we cannot do that in the public eye. We have to manipulate things behind the scenes. The plan that we are releasing to the public, you may have heard already. The four of us will occupy Germany in four separate territories. We will get him to a point where he can support himself, and then we will leave. All of that is true.” He wrung his hands, the nervous energy pouring out of him. “But there is more. I’m sure you’ve noticed that America and Russia aren’t exactly on good terms. A war is coming soon after this one, and none of us can stop them from starting it. So, Russia will refuse to relinquish his zone- a completely unforeseen act of betrayal, of course- and create a new country, which you will come to represent, assuming you survive long enough. Whatever Russia’s plans are for you, I doubt they will be pleasant. But America has plans for your brother. He wants to turn him into a beacon of American capitalism in Europe. Most importantly, he wants to turn him into a peaceful nation, one without all that old-fashioned Prussian warmongering- Relax. I’m only quoting. If you survive this, old friend, you may lose your brother. You may lose your sense of self. This is brand new territory, and you and Germany are the test subjects.”

Had Prussia known it wasn’t physically possible, he could’ve sworn that all the blood in his body had frozen over. “So you’ve come here to threaten me,” Prussia’s voice was now barely a whisper. Over the howl of the wind, he found himself uncertain if France had even heard him. His expression was so pitiful, so tinged with fear, that it almost ignited Prussia, like a shark drawn to the smell of blood. 

“You know…” he laughed quietly, shaking his head. “Why should I even believe you?” His grip on France’s arm tightened as he stepped into his personal space. Before he could have made any dangerous promises or gone for his throat, France yanked his arm away. The shaking in his hands was visible even through the thick padding of his gloves. 

“I did not come to make threats!" France snapped. "I came to give a warning. You and I both know how attached your brother is to you. If you aren't prepared to be firm with him, he may start another damn war trying to get you back. And if he does, we will have no choice but to-” He didn't even want to say it. "Nobody can last a third world war in a single century. And if we have to go to extreme measures to make sure your brother keeps the peace, we will.” He let the insinuation sink in, taking a step back, and Prussia didn’t follow him.

For what step he would take forward, he was certain that France would take two back. France was… Frightened of him. Repulsed even, if Prussia didn’t know any better. He needed to stay calm. Needed to keep his mouth shut and nod, listen and send France off. But beneath the surface of old ties and current ones was a dread so heavy that it seemed to have anchored him to the snowy ground. The dread that transfigured into protectiveness and inevitable anger. Anger at the Führer for sending him, his brother, alongside his people on this fool’s errand. Anger at his brother’s foolish hunger for a cheap imitation of the glory Prussia once had. And resentment towards France for having the nerve to dictate him, good intentions or not damned. Prussia’s expression twisted into something that felt like a nasty imitation of himself. “My brother…” he started, teeth chattering, “Is not some dog to be kept on a leash, just so he doesn’t bite anyone stupid enough to wave a bloody steak in front of his face when he is starving!” The only thing keeping him from screaming at France in a creative variety of slurs and insults, was the knowledge that if he did, he would wake his brother and likely everyone else in this camp. The chances of France deceiving him and telling the truth, both seemed equal in their likelihood, yet the sliver of faith held out enough to keep him quiet. Or maybe he wanted to at least believe that it was there. “He’s a child, but he’s not stupid - Do you really thinks this was something he himself wanted?” He let the question hang in the air. “Things have changed France! We don’t get to dictate a thing, and neither does he. If there’s going to be another war, it’s not because I won’t have warned him enough!” 

France grit his teeth. “It doesn’t matter! When has it ever mattered what a Nation wants?” He clenched his hands into fists. “I know how kind-hearted he is. But that doesn’t change anything. England thinks of your brother as a younger version of you. He only sees the man who bombed his capital city and killed his civilians.” He sighed, glancing at the tent. “Besides, none of us thought he'd start this war, not after his catastrophic loss and the restrictions we placed on him. But here we are, five years into a war even worse than the last one.” He looked around at the camp and sighed. “Germany has an expectation of perfection from himself. Thanks for that, by the way. We underestimated his need to live up to that expectation. England underestimates his love for you now, and that will be a mistake. Especially now that America has finally harnessed nuclear weapons.” He shuddered. “The death toll would be astronomical if Germany got on America's bad side again.” They were both silent for a long time. “America will kill him to prevent another war. He’d kill him just to show off, his trigger finger’s gotten so itchy. Your brother's impulsiveness will destroy him. But he follows your orders without question. So I am asking you to save your brother a lot of pain, and make sure that he doesn’t cause trouble. I don't care how you decide to do it. I only care that he isn’t dragged into another unwinnable war by his own stupidity.”

“No.” Prussia shook his head, eyes wide. “He wouldn't make this mistake again. You don't know…” But hesitance has wrapped itself around his throat. Had he, or any of them had known from the start? The pair of old friends shared a stare at the tent beside them, falling into silence. Recklessness, no matter how many times was an irrational and impulsive base. It had been twice already. Would that even be enough to stop Germany from uprooting the very earth itself in his desperation for stability? From lack of loss? 

Prussia got on one knee. France had the good sense to take three steps back in case he lunged at him, only to see Prussia sliding his knife back into his boot. Something in both of them eased. 

“I don’t know if you’re telling me the truth, or you’re gluing feathers to your shoulder blades in some queer way of making yourself seem trustworthy.” Prussia grumbled, dusting the snow off his shins. “Pulling some elaborate scheme to make us mistrust each other, or something of the like, but…” He got to his feet properly, looking completely torn down the centre of certainty even at his full height. An outdated weapon, France thought to himself. A sad caricature of a “once-you-were-great”. 

“But I’m going to try and trust you this time.” 

France’s held breath fell out of his lungs at those very words. “I suppose that’s all I can ask for,”he replied, glancing behind himself. “I should go before your soldiers see me. Don’t shoot me in the back while I’m running.”

“Fuck you.” Prussia hissed, kicking up some snow just before France turned on his back. “You know I’m better than that.” He was certain that the snowstorm had deafened France to his words, his friend not even stopping once as he disappeared into the thicket and out of sight. 

Maybe it was best to make an understated report at sunrise. 


	16. A Fight, the Peace, and Plans for War

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy shiiiit!! 
> 
> Now, I’m sure you can all guess why we’ve been unable to post for the past few weeks. This pandemic is insane, and there is so much to be done in this failing economy, am I right? That, and navigating the strange world of online classes for university. 
> 
> Good news however, in this whole shitshow is that during the self quarantine period, me and @internetshutin have a bit of time to edit so that’s nice. 
> 
> We’ll be publishing a couple of chapter postings in the next couple of days to compensate for our absence, but thank you for being so patient with us! Angels, the lot of you. 
> 
> TW: Descriptions of torture 
> 
> \- ieve

They maintained a facade of normalcy through most of the next day, Prussia averting his eyes every time he caught Germany glancing at him. It wasn’t until after dinner that Germany finally said something. “Are you alright?” he asked as they approached their tent. “You look distracted.”

“Didn’t sleep much,” came the curt answer, Prussia pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“I understand,” Germany responded, wrapping his coat closer to his body. “It’s too cold to get any proper sleep out here. And with what happened last night- you heard about that, didn’t you? There was an enemy soldier in the camp. I heard some of the men say he was wearing a French uniform.”

“Uh-huh.” It seemed to Germany that dusting specks of snow off his uniform was the most fascinating task in the world at the moment to Prussia. “The soldier two tents down spotted him, but nobody managed to get him.” He recited what he had told the commander, leaving out anything concerning the brief discussion of the previous night. “I made the report, actually.” Finally, an ounce of truth. “Still. Just makes me a bit uneasy that a French soldier is this far out here - It is weird, right?” 

Germany clocked the way Prussia never looked at him and narrowed his eyes. “You’re lying.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “You never lie to me. What happened?”

“Lying?” Prussia spat out the word as if it tasted rotten. His sour expression would’ve been believable, had Germany not known better. “What makes you say that I’m lying?”

“Maybe it’s the century and a half I’ve spent living with you,” Germany said. “Gilbert, you can trust me.” He reached for his brother’s arm to feel the muscles tense under his hand. His lips pressed into a line. “Was it France?” He knew he was right by the way Prussia wouldn’t look at him.

Guilt looked as if it were ready to eat Prussia whole just from the look in his brother’s eyes, and he took a step back. France’s words rang in his ears; _ You must promise not to tell your brother. It would destroy him. _ He looked around himself and shook his head, fearful of passing the point of no return. “Ludwig.” He tried to reason, his voice unsteady. “I don’t know what else he’d been doing here, but he came by to deliver news to me.”

“News,” Germany repeated, his grip tightening on Prussia’s arm ever so slightly. His voice was even and strangely calm despite the slight increase of breath and nostrils flaring. He could feel. “News that was so important that he had to make it to the other side of Europe to tell you, but not so important that you would come to me immediately?” He shook, eyebrows low and knit together. The obnoxiously respectful air was gone. He looked more like a livid animal than a human. “What is wrong with you?! We are losing ground in your territory, and you decide it’s a great time to have a chat with our enemy?! And then not tell me about it!” His nails were digging small crescents into his palm with how tight he squeezed his fists.

Prussia was stunned speechless for a few good moments as he stared at his brother’s face, mind completely blank. He’d seen that expression directed at others before, especially Italy on occasion, but Prussia had prided himself by practically never being on the receiving end of it. But right now, he would’ve been a liar if he said he wasn’t at least a little frightened at this point. But he would be damned before he let that ever be known. Instead, he took a step toward his brother, staring him down like his eyes were the barrel of a gun.

“Don’t you ever raise your fucking voice at me, Ludwig.” His own was the same deadly calm that had once threatened beatings. The hand of his captured arm wrapped itself around Ludwig’s forearm, and Prussia squeezed. “Don’t you think I’d tell you if I thought you needed to know? If I’m keeping something from you, it’s for a good reason, you ungrateful little shit!” 

Germany’s arm pulled back as if to punch him, but with emotion warring on his face, he slowly dropped it and scoffed, pulling away from his brother. Now wasn’t the time to fight. But as he returned to their tent, he couldn’t help taking one last jab at him. “I thought I had a good reason for keeping things from you once. And that almost killed you.”

Though the small voice of rationality told Prussia to go elsewhere for a while, it was overruled by stubbornness. “Oh, don’t be such an old bitch!” he yelled after him, fighting his way into the tent, even as Germany tried to close it. No give from either side. 

“Can you at least hear me out for a moment if you’re so damn curious!?” The flurry of conflict-driven movement came to an almost immediate halt. Germany allowed Prussia to open the tent and glared at him as he stepped inside. “I don’t think I can tell you now, because this can’t take away from our efforts out here.” 

Germany’s jaw tightened, arms crossing over his chest. Good. That was at least something- an expectation. 

“Listen. I promise I was going to tell you everything once we got to Berlin.” Germany dropped his hands to his side, looking somewhat placated. If nothing else, Prussia was in no immediate danger of being decked then and there. “But now I know this will be on our minds, regardless of what you know or don’t know.” Germany still didn’t speak a word.

“If you want to know, this is your chance to tell me you want to know. I don’t want us against each other when we’re meant to be against Russia.” 

Silence for a long while. Germany finally rolled his eyes and spoke. “No, that yelling out there was just me being dramatic.” A humorless smile pulled his lips up. “I don’t actually want to know why you were talking with France.”

Prussia threw his hands up. “Well, perfect! Because I don’t exactly want to tell you!”

“Why not?” Germany snapped, clenching his hands into fists. 

“Because it makes it a little easier for me to pretend all this isn’t happening.” A part of him felt shame in admittance of his fear. In how small he felt in their meagre two-person tent that threatened to collapse under the force of the wind outside. When words escaped, they held power in the real world, and the fear of those consequences had made him feel so very small.

Germany was silent and shocked, his whole body taken aback by the admission. “I…” There was nothing he could think to say, which was fine since Prussia kept talking. “But since I know you’re going to be acting like a passive-aggressive old hag if I don’t, I might as well tell you now.” 

The silence became denser with each passing second as he agonized over how he was going to tell Germany, but eventually shook his head in decision. There were no words, no amount of reassurances, no phrases gentle enough to outweigh the heaviness of the news. This was the right decision. 

“France told me we’re going to be separated.” 

Silence. Germany’s face warred through shock, disbelief, anger, fear, and settled on desperation as he searched his brother’s face for any sign that this was some sort of cruel joke. “What do you mean, separated? They can’t- Why would he even tell you that? How can you believe a word that comes out of his mouth?”

“Because unless he’s pulling some strange reverse psychological stunt on us, everything he told me goes against their best interests at present.” In the minutes that passed, he relayed everything France had told him, save for the parts about Germany’s supposed impulsiveness, and France’s fear of starting another war. Germany’s head could barely wrap around the words Prussia spoke. “They won’t separate us. They’re not so cruel.” When the reality of Prussia’s words finally clicked into place, his dumb shock was overpowered by a fog of rage. “I’ll kill them.” It sounded more like a statement of fact than a threat. “I won’t let them take you from me. They’ll die before they get the chance.” His hand wrapped around Prussia’s wrist, too tight to be comfortable. 

Prussia’s face didn’t move. “First of all, don’t hold them above that - And no. Fight them any more on this, and you’ll get everyone killed, including yourself.” That was enough to pull Germany down from the ledge. He closed his eyes and listened to Prussia’s next words. “According to France, if we lose this war, then we will be separated. There is nothing we can do about that, and you need to accept that...” He narrowed his eyes, determination leaking into his voice. “But if there’s any temporary arrangement that can be put into order, I will take it.” 

It wasn’t much of a promise, but it was the best they could do. Germany nodded and rested his head on Prussia’s shoulder. “I don’t want to lose you,” he murmured, wishing more than anything that he’d just stayed quiet and worked his debt off.Prussia slung his arm over his brother. “I know... How about we have a stiff drink about it once we get back home?” Only in a split second, Prussia’s fretful expression melted away and was replaced by his familiar smirk. Their fight was left behind. “What do you say?”

Germany’s posture relaxed, and he smiled. “Absolutely, yes. We’ll go to that bar on the outskirts of Berlin that you like. He was suddenly conscious of Prussia’s arm around him, intended to be playful but with a tension that meant security and protection. It made him feel like a child again, and he resisted the urge to curl into his brother’s lap. Instead, he wrapped his own arm behind Prussia’s back with his hand on his waist. 

It felt better.

“When this is over, what’s going to happen to us?” Germany asked. “Not to our countries, but to us personally.” It was a poorly kept secret that there was a second layer to invasions and occupations not to be spoken of in polite society. Still, even after his catastrophic failure in the last war, Prussia had taken the brunt of the up-close and personal punishment, insisting that Germany was too young and didn’t know any better. “You won’t get away with protecting me like that again. I’d rather be prepared.” Prussia’s fingers fisted the wool of his trousers. “No, I’m good.” He almost seemed as if he were trying to squirm away from Germany. “I want to know.” There was no room for argument in Germany’s voice, more stubbornness than words. 

“Whatever.” A scoff. “You already know I took the brunt of some tortures after the war… Obviously nothing I couldn’t handle - You know I’m virtually indestructible, right?” He jabbed at Germany with his elbow. “You gotta say it, you know.” There was a strange plea in Prussia’s eye and Germany fought to figure out whether it was real or imagined. _ Don’t make me tell you. _Without even giving him an answer, Germany looped his arm in through his brother’s elbow, holding him from any jabs. “I know what you’re doing," and Prussia fell into a defeated stillness. “Eh... It was worth a shot.” He made a move to get up, though Germany’s hold around his arm held him bolted to their cot. Prussia lips thinned in irritation. 

“I’m not a child, brother. Keeping this from me will only leave me imagining the worst possible scenario. I don’t want to be blindsided.” Germany fought a shudder, trying not to let his imagination get the best of him. For a moment, Prussia sat still, as if mentally deliberating whether a two-decade-old truth truly needed to be known. “Fine, but don’t ask me to wipe your ass when you see Russia and violently shit yourself.” Germany opened his mouth to counter back with another verbal missile, but the gloves had already come off. 

Germany was stunned into silence. 

The backs of his brother’s hands were littered with pale scars of century-old battles. There were so many that it was impossible to keep track of when one emerged and one faded. He barely registered Prussia's voice when he finally spoke. “One of the worst things was losing my fingers to frostbite and having them crushed with hammers.” He pointed to spots of raised skin that ended at his first joint. The hairs on Germany’s neck raised at the sight of his brother’s uneven nails. 

“When they grew back, nails were put through the joints, which explains these.” He traced his index finger over the pale raised dots of his hand. He could’ve sworn he saw the bolts sticking out of his mangled fingers again. Prussia looked over at Germany - Away from his disfigured hands, making sure he hadn’t seen the bolts too. No expression. Perhaps stoicism had been a lesson too well taught, or perhaps he’d underestimated the strength of his stomach. “Russia used to pour vodka into my open wounds too. Can’t even smell the stuff without feeling the burn again - Which answers your question of why I don’t drink that horseshit anymore.” 

The glove slid back on again, and all evidence died temporarily. “There’s no point saying much else, though.” 

Though his face betrayed nothing, Germany felt sicker and sicker with each word his brother uttered. His eyes fixated on the gloved fingers gripping his shoulder. He could only imagine what they’d do to them after the atrocities committed during this war. He couldn’t speak. His fingers gripped the back of his shirt tight. “G-Gilbert,” he whispered. Fear swam in his eyes as he looked up at Prussia. Germany’s grip on his shirt tightened, and the vivid image of his brother’s hands bloodied and mangled as his own had been invaded Prussia’s thoughts. “I don’t want you to have the same scars, Ludwig.” 

The sound that escaped Germany’s throat could have been a laugh. “It’s too late. I went too far this time.” He buried his face in his hands, sucking in a breath and forcing his exhale to be even and slow. He couldn’t cry. His eyes flicked up to his brother’s. “I’m scared.” Prussia’s silence came from a place of uncertainty of what he, or anyone could possibly say to make anything better. “I...” He trailed off, hesitating. There was nothing. He could’ve sworn that at the sound of his brother’s voice cracking, his heart had followed in sequence. “I am, too.” Prussia wanted to clap his hands over his mouth as soon as the words left it. But how could he bring them anywhere near his face now - Anywhere near Germany’s view, when those terrified eyes were fixed so strongly on his own? 

Prussia had always been unbreakable in Germany’s eyes. To hear him speak of fear shattered him. He’d always been an ugly crier, his face turning red and blotchy, and nose runny in seconds. He buried his face in Prussia’s chest and cried until he had no more tears. With the collapse of one column, another would have to bear twice of the structure’s weight. So Prussia held Germany close with the strength of a drowning man until his sobs became reduced to quiet sniffles. “C’mon,” Prussia murmured, pulling a clean handkerchief out of his pocket. 

Germany took the handkerchief with a shaky hand and wiped away the tears and mucus, hiccupping the whole way through. Refusing to look his brother in the eye, he stared at his hands in shame. This wasn’t right. His emotions were all over the place recently with Prussia. Shame, admiration, annoyance, and a feral part of himself that wanted to prove himself not only equal to his brother but better. He was supposed to be more stable than this. 

"Don’t think about it too much.” Those were the words that brought Germany out of his thoughts. “If you’re smart enough, you’ll live long enough to forget.” 

The tear tracks burnt on Germany’s face. He looked up at Prussia once he had calmed down and blew his nose. “I’m fine,” he lied with a small smile. He would have liked nothing more than to bury himself in the snow for the rest of time. “It’s just a lot all at once, don’t worry about it.”

Doubtful silence. Or maybe there was no doubt at all, and Germany had imagined it. Maybe he would let it go like they had done countless times before in other instances, and never spoken of again but this time - 

“Are you sure?”

Germany looked up. Prussia’s grimace appeared for what it was. An imitation of a reassuring smile. “Because I don’t expect you to be fine. I’m not either.” 

There was something in Germany that wanted to spill his guts, tell Prussia how scared he was and how furious. Explain the desires he held to be an empire worthy of succession to Prussia, even work through why he got so angry when Prussia took his small liberties without consulting him. Instead, he shrugged, looking more tired than emotional. “I just want all of this to be over.”

A simple clap on the back. “Too bad it can’t be, though, huh?” Prussia stood to his feet and turned to face his brother directly. “This war has surpassed its original purpose, and the glory’s gone to the dogs." And there it was again... The frenetic pacing Germany had grown so familiar with in Prussia's company. "I’m far from fine knowing that if we lose this, I’m not just losing whatever I have left of myself, but you. I’ll fight to keep Russia off my land, and we’re going to figure out a way to negotiate with the Allies, and I won’t stop unless Hitler or I drop dead.” Prussia’s hands locked around Germany’s biceps, eyes steady on his. “Are you with me!?” 

Prussia’s bouts of passionate yelling never failed to make Germany nervous, but by now, he knew not to argue. “I will stand by you,” he swore. “The Allies may win the war. They may even separate us. But we will come back from this stronger than we have ever been. That, I can promise.”

“Good. So fight out here for the time being. If we can hold off an invasion from the East, there may still be a place for negotiation.” The forced smile on his face had become melded into his expression. “As for Russia, that son of a bitch is going to have to respond to me for what he did! And we’re going to find a way to ambush him, kick his ass into next Christmas, and get him the hell off my land! Sound good?”

Yes, it did sound good. Too good. But Germany had learned not to underestimate Prussia, especially when he was angry. He simply nodded, forcing a smile. “Come on. We move out tomorrow, so we might as well get some rest before that. I’ll take the first watch.”

“Can’t argue with that.” Prussia muttered, getting himself comfortable under the covers. From each side of the tent, both forced themselves to try and forget. 


	17. A Secret is Spilled

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are we back on schedule? Will we start posting more regularly? Will the world stop being a massive dumpster fire? Maybe. Nobody's really sure. But we are going to try to get these chapters out on a more regular basis. Editing is sort of mentally taxing, but it's worth it to see our work finally out there in the world. You've all been so lovely, and your comments are a joy to read. Thank you so much for your patience.  
-internetshutin

Unable to rest, Prussia stared at the ceiling of the tent, smothered by the silence. His mind was on the effort, the telegrams sent to broken families and their aftermaths. Erected memorials, and unveiling speeches of sacrifice. The smell of burning bodies. 

It wasn’t until the sun came up that Prussia decided to stop pretending to sleep. Even when he opened his eyes, there was a strange dissociative quality to the world around him. As if he’d had morphine mainlined into him while he’d been resting. One hemisphere still remained dipped in the state of dreaming. 

“Hungry?” Germany’s one-word question had no meaning.

When the copper of words finally connected to the wires of his disjointed brain, Prussia looked up. “A bit.” He rushed to try and search for any cues to give him any indication of how long Germany had even been there. What had he been doing - Had he been watching him? “You?” 

Germany shrugged, looking around the tent. “Not really.” His stomach was in knots. “I’ll eat something,” he added quickly. He knew how Prussia could get if he didn’t eat. He straightened out his uniform as much as he could and slicked his hair back.

Prussia eyed Germany from his cot as he navigated his own grooming. His steadfastness in presentation, even in a place like this, was admittedly a little impressive. 

“You seem nervous.” 

A stiffened back was all the response needed. Germany swiveled around, looking slightly stung, and opened his mouth as if to retort before his words were cut short by Prussia’s raised hands. 

“I won’t say anything else about it. Let’s just enjoy ourselves as much as we can tonight. We can’t do anything before tomorrow.” 

_ Hypocrite _ . 

“I guess you’re right,” Germany answered, not looking convinced. His hand returned to his head, smoothing his hair back as if it were a compulsion. 

“I mean it!” Prussia shouted, pulling on his boots. “I don’t want to see any grey hairs on that slicked head of yours by the end of tonight - That’s my brand!” 

At that, Germany managed a small laugh. “Fine, fine. I’ll try to relax.” He took a slow breath, arms lowering. “But it may be best if I wasn’t around the soldiers much. I couldn’t keep up appearances very long knowing what lies ahead for them.”

“Looks like you’re shit out of luck considering ninety-eight percent of this camp is composed of them,” Prussia huffed, getting to his feet. He heard Ludwig’s shuffle uncomfortably behind him, and their conversation on the day of his arrival re-emerged in both their minds.

Since Prussia could recall, Germany had always appeared a little off-kilter in the presence of soldiers. Perhaps it was the responsibility of an army on his childish shoulders that never lessened. Prussia had even speculated a case of some internalised imposter syndrome that bore guilt to the fact that there existed people, happy to die in the name of betterment for the country’s future. That degree of devotion was overwhelming, uncomfortable, larger than life! - Masochistic, Ludwig had once described it. 

“What are you just standing for?” Prussia’s voice snapped Germany out of his thoughts. “We should be running so we don’t miss out. You know how tight rations are now, don’t you?” The tug on Germany’s coat was all it took to get him to stand, albeit with a roll of the eyes. Nothing came between Prussia and his food, it seemed. 

They split in two separate directions once receiving their rations, Germany beelining to the edge of the camp so he’d be left alone. 

Or not. He turned to see a soldier standing only a foot from him with wide eyes and a round face. The soldier was vaguely recognizable, but Germany couldn’t quite place him for a while. “Do you mind if I sit with you?” the soldier asked.

“I don’t mind,” Germany said, face impassive and knuckles turning white with their grip on his plate. They sat together in silence.

It was the soldier who spoke up first after a hesitant silence. “Are you really the nation of Germany?” he asked.

That was when Germany realized why the man looked so familiar. He was the one who had rescued him from the tundra, talked to him, brought him back from death. He recalled only vaguely his pleas for assistance and the half-delirious admission of his identity. “I am,” he said. “It may be hard to believe after how you found me-”

“Not at all!” the soldier said. “When I found you, you were frozen to the bone and barely conscious. Now you’re already walking? It would take years for a gunshot to the leg to heal so well. As soon as I saw you out and about yesterday, I knew you were-!”

“Shh.” Germany’s eyes darted around. “I understand, it’s a lot to process, but I need you to do me a favor.”

“Anything.”

“Keep this between us. Please. My identity isn’t something I like to broadcast.” And if Prussia found out he’d let it slip… Germany trailed off, pausing as he saw his brother glance over to him, before back to the soldier sitting beside him. Prussia stood to give a mocking bow in response to the roars of laughter before excusing himself with a haughty grin. 

With a grateful smile, Germany moved over to allow Prussia room to sit. “Gilbert, this is the soldier that sent for you… I’m so sorry. I didn’t catch your name.”

The soldier looked starstruck. “Private Adenauer. It’s an honor to meet you, Herr Prussia.”

Germany stifled a groan. There would be a lecture later for this.

Prussia tensed up, briefly taken back by the soldier’s unexpected knowledge, but regained his composure as quickly as he had lost it. However, he did not fail to give Germany a discreet side-eye as he leaned in to take hold of the soldier’s hand. There would have to be enquiry about this later. “Ah, I see. So you’ve heard of me.” He smirked, giving the hand a hearty shake before moving to sit in between them. “Gilbert is fine! Prussia... is a bit of a formality.” He explained with a dismissive gesture of the hand before resting his chin on it, the usual grin on his face as he sized the soldier up. “So, who are you?”

“I just joined up,” Adenauer said. “My father wanted me to join the SS, but I just couldn’t go through with it. There’s something about them that rubs me the wrong way.”

“I understand,” Germany said. He envied Adenauer’s innocence. “Is the Wehrmacht more to your liking?”

He shrugged. “It’s alright. But even the hardships are bearable to serve the Fatherland.” His eyes were wide and bright, too sunny for the cold of where they were. It was almost reminiscent of Italy.

Germany had to fight back a blush. The Fatherland. It made him sound so old. Thankfully, Prussia took over while his tongue tried to untangle itself. “Make no mistake, Adenauer. We both hold your contribution in extremely high regard. We just hope you make yourself at home in the Wermacht.” 

“Oh! Have you become acquainted with anyone during your time here?” 

Adenauer nodded. “A few people, yes.” He pointed at one soldier who was gesticulating wildly as he spoke. “I bunk with him. He’s nice enough, just a little... enthusiastic. He doesn’t know how to take things seriously.”

Germany snorted. “Sounds like someone I know,” he said, raising an eyebrow at his brother.

An expression of great fustian and offence was painted on Prussia’s face. “Slander and lies!” He denied fervently, throwing his arm over Germany’s shoulder, jabbing his finger at the small crease above his brows. “On the contrary, it mystifies me how he’s not had a brain aneurysm clucking over everything like some mother hen! Just out of his first century, would you believe it?”

Germany rolled his eyes. “Please. As if you don’t act like a worried mother any time I do anything remotely dangerous. I’m shocked you haven’t gotten any grey hairs... Oh, never mind,” he said with a small smile on his face. 

Adenauer chuckled. “It’s surprising... You’re just like any other brothers, aren’t you?”

Prussia felt Germany’s shoulders tense. “Oh…” Prussia gestured flippantly, his hand came to a resting spot in his brother’s hair. “I suppose so,” he entertained, mussing it. 

This wasn’t right, Germany realized. They shouldn’t be acting as if everything was fine when, in fact, nothing was. They were looking forward to a losing battle next to a human who only knew who they were because of his own failure. His food seemed to rot in his stomach, his once voracious appetite gone. He handed the last few bites of his dinner to Prussia and stood. “I’m going to bed,” he muttered. He nodded politely to Adenauer before going to the tent.

“Is he alright?” Adenauer asked. “It wasn’t something I said?”

“Said he wasn’t feeling well earlier. He’ll be fine.” Prussia said automatically, the lie rolling off his tongue with such ease that he found himself a little taken aback. From the corner of his eye he saw him leaving, but didn’t follow. Even if he had wanted to, he was now presented with the perfect opportunity. He stayed quiet for a while crimson eyes studying his surroundings before coming to the conclusion that the area wasn’t one for serious discussion. Although his expression remained calm, he would’ve been lying if he said that he didn’t feel his stomach twist into knots. “As for now, how about we go for a short walk?” He proposed.

Adenauer nodded. “Certainly.” He stood and followed Prussia to the edge of camp. “Is there something wrong?”

“What?” Prussia looked back at Adaneur with a look of severe disbelief. “No. Why would there be?” For the rest of their stroll, they remained in a tense silence that seemed contradictory to their previous shared words. Adenauer took the silence as an opportunity to glance around, to where snowprints grew scarcer and scarcer, until nothing remained but theirs. He almost bumped into Prussia when he stopped abruptly. Though he opened his mouth to ask what they had paused for, Prussia’s words were out quicker. “Would you describe yourself as a trustworthy person?” 

“I-” This line of questioning didn’t sit well with the soldier. “Yes, sir. I like to think so.” Prussia glanced around himself once more, just to be sure that they were alone before he turned to look at the soldier. The brightness of the man’s eyes felt as if they were cutting into him. How he hadn’t noticed how vividly red Prussia’s eyes were back at the campsite was a mystery to him. He held himself strong against the suffocating oppression, uncomfortably present in the open woods. “Why do you ask? Do you not deem me trustworthy?” 

Prussia only shook his head, expression completely blank. “Not at all,” he answered briskly, taking a step forward. “It’s just that…” A gloved hand went to scratch an itch on the side of his face. “If I recall properly, the identities of my brother and I are of state secret.” 

That was when it seemed to hit Adenauer that nobody was watching them. His breath briefly caught in his throat as Prussia took another step towards him, palms bared towards him, but with an unsettling mien that Adaneur could not ignore. Every instinct in his body seemed to be repelled against it. 

“I trust you know what this means, right?”

Adaneur took a shuffle-step back, holding his hands up in surrender. “I never meant any harm,” he said. “Germany told me when I found him- I don’t think he was aware of what was going on. I swear, I won’t tell anyone!” 

He was met with a raised brow. “Does anyone else know?” Adenauer shook his head in a manner that was almost violent. “Not even that friend of yours that you bunk with?” 

“No!” 

“Good.” 

Prussia doubted Adenauer was even breathing, as terrified as he looked. Slack-jawed, eyes unblinking, shoulders tensed. It was fun watching him squirm. 

“You seem like a man of your word, so don’t worry. I’ll be civil - After all, I do owe you for calling me here.” 

Adenauer’s body relaxed ever so slightly. He nodded, opened his mouth as if to assure Prussia that there was nothing to worry about-

“But I warn you… If I even hear a whisper on the matter, I will know that  _ somebody _ wasn’t capable of keeping their tongue behind their teeth, and I will personally cut it from your mouth.” 

The poor soldier’s face blanched. It looked as if he might be sick. 

“But that won’t happen, will it?” 

Nodding furiously, Adenauer swallowed the lump in his throat. “Yes, sir- I mean, no, sir! I mean- I will keep this quiet!” He quickly excused himself and hurried back towards camp, glancing backwards as he ran.

It was only once Adenauer was nothing but a speck in the distance did Prussia follow his steps back to camp. He’d have been lying if he hadn’t found satisfaction in the poor soldier’s face. There was a brief feeling of heaviness as he returned to a significantly quieter campsite, and made a line for the tent with his coat wrapped tight around himself. 

Germany was waiting for him, eyes on him the second he entered the tent. “How much trouble am I in?” he asked.

Every sign in Prussia’s body language appeared to make him the universal embodiment of irritation as he threw his coat off. “Do you remember asking for me, using my nation's name?” 

Germany’s eyes dropped. There was no excuse he could make for breaking one of the cardinal rules that bound Nations. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”

“Clearly,” Prussia grumbled, shutting the tent. “I just about had a heart attack then he addressed me like that.” He shook his head dismissively, removing his gloves. “Doesn’t matter now though. I sorted him out.” 

Germany wouldn’t have liked to be Adenauer then, knowing what it was like to be on the receiving end of his brother’s anger. “It won’t happen again.”

“I should hope so,” Prussia muttered, brushing past him to sit on the edge of his bunk. He didn’t want to verbally lash Germany for his mistake too harshly, preferring to have a peaceful night. 

Germany sat in silence until it almost became painful. “Adenauer... He’s barely an adult, yet he’s prepared to die to protect me. How am I supposed to be okay with that?”

Prussia shrugged, uncertain how he could possibly justify such a thought without sounding like a monster dressed as a person. “We can’t. We can only be grateful for all they offer to us, protect them out here, and make the best decisions to balance the weight of their sacrifices.” The question of how many soldiers would be alive after tomorrow flashed in his mind. 

Germany nodded. “I know. All of this... I didn’t think it’d end up like this.” He seemed to be saying that about a lot of things lately. Sighing, he lay back on his bunk. “I wish I were human,” he said before he could stop himself.

“Don’t say that.” 

At Prussia’s stern tone, Germany felt his muscles tense as if to stand at attention. It was stupid, really, how hard it was to kick those habits.

“That thinking isn’t going to get you anywhere.” 

“Yes, sir. I’m sorry.” Germany mentally kicked himself. He should’ve at least known to keep such thoughts to himself.

Prussia didn’t press on the subject further, sensing the underlying tension and, instead, threw the covers on himself, shivering. Temporary resolution had been reached and it only stood with the stability of a coin on its side.

“Night.” Prussia eventually murmured, unsure whether Germany had even heard him. 


	18. Memel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for your patience, guys. We always appreciate your comments and kudos, and we hope you like this next chapter.  
-internetshutin
> 
> Content Warnings: Gun violence, minor character death

As morning came, so did the wake-up call. It only took a word to get Prussia to wake, and he sat up to attention almost immediately. Leaving the bed, Prussia shook Germany lightly before they both gathered their belongings and set out into a new day. 

There was no time for apprehension. At the commander’s behest, Germany went into a private tent to talk. He wasn’t surprised that the plan was so last-minute. This was a losing battle, and Memel was already weak under siege. All the commander could do was place the brothers where they’d be at the least risk of capture when the Soviets invariably broke down their barricade.

Morning rations were handed out quickly, and many soldiers were herded to remain in their respective troops while they ate. Standing next to his brother, Prussia watched them all a little groggily. 

Germany came out of the tent, looking ashen. “We’re being separated.” He couldn’t fight Russia alone, not again, he’d die- He cleared his throat. “We’ll be joining separate divisions to aid and reinforce the blockade. Bring your soldiers through the city, make sure it hasn’t been infiltrated-” He cut himself off and shook his head. “You know what you’re doing. I trust you. I’ll meet you in the city.” He embraced his brother quickly before they were separated, going with their respective troops. Germany held his head high as they marched their way in two separate directions. 

On the way, Germany noted the people sent off in the backs of trucks. They were soldiers, barely old enough to have a girl to come write letters to. Voices still breaking as they spoke of their future exploits. 

Prussia always spoke of old wars with the vigour of an obsessive. He would rave endlessly between beers about the promise of the old sun warming the back of one’s neck, even during mud trodden battles where one’s horse would throw soldiers off its back. Though undoubtedly exaggerated tales, they held heart, and an outdated love to them reminiscent of praises people sang for the fallen Roman Empire. 

While his tutors stuffed his ears on the matters of law and political affairs as a child, Germany would fall awash with envy at times. He would daydream about the accomplishment of hand whittling his own spears, just as his brother had in his youth. Launching them into the hearts of giants while standing at a mere four foot six, and looking directly in the eyes of a stranger as their final breath left their lungs. 

Needless to say, Germany had soon learned through a childhood of academic cramming and piano lessons that he would never get so much as a taste of the wild world that Prussia had praised so adoringly. Those times held an intimacy in them that no longer breathed. 

Germany fiddled with the scope of his gun disapprovingly. He could almost hear his brother drunkenly ranting into his ears about how the further weaponry advanced, the more disconnect was felt in them. 

Fingers twitching against his appointed weapon, he set his sight on the sea of rubble as he rode into the dead town, silent. 

Upon arrival, the soldiers on the army truck set off in separate directions in groups. Appointed his own, Germany set off with them silently. The heavy safety switch of his gun was undone as they retreated into the rubble like rats. He lagged behind, each step deliberate, hissing for the soldiers to slow down every now and again as they walked toward the centre. His eyes searched empty windows, broken down doors, monitoring every shadow for Russia and his siblings, every distant gunshot feeling as if it could’ve been set off beside his ear.

The hair on the back of his neck raised as the sound of a warring city faded. Though he was walking away from the worst bits of the battle, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was walking further into danger. Every step down the street felt like a step closer to the edge of a cliff, when one has to force their body to move against its every attempt to retreat. His eyes were glued to the alleyways and the windows, where ambushers would hide. 

The anticipation was worse than anything else. He could handle the heat of battle, but this? Just waiting for something to happen was torturous. It was sick, but he just wished something would happen.

The echoing click and the silenced whizz of a bullet flying through the air rang through his ears. He didn’t have the speed to turn around, only to fall to his knees as if it were the only thing he was born for. 

Before his mouth even formed the shape of words to speak, he heard the smack of his comrade’s palms against the frozen concrete and the heavy thud of a body hitting the ground. He didn’t stop to look, barely gathering enough time to get back on his feet before red powder shrouded his head as gunfire showered the street. His legs moved of their own will, mouth screaming for the young men behind him to not look, just run for cover. It was hard to hear himself over the sound of his own heartbeat, over the screams of young men as they fell, never reaching the corner of the street. 

The scar on the corner of the wall was at Germany’s eye level as soon as he regained stability of his sight. His stomach churned. Russia again? No, more likely one of his sisters. He swallowed a lump in his throat. The members of his entourage were scattered on either side of the street, hiding and searching the tops of buildings for their attacker. With unmatched precision, each one fell with matching bullet wounds just between the eyes. It was so frighteningly accurate that with each fallen soldier, Germany grew less convinced that the near miss aimed at him had been an accident. Whoever was shooting, they were toying with him. 

Though it pained him to even look at the corpses twisted on the pavement, he forced himself to focus on their position and the angle of the attack that had felled them. He looked to the top of a building across the street to see a slight figure hunched behind a rifle on a bipod. He couldn’t tell just by looking who it was, but she was ignoring him. Even when it would have been easier to shoot him, she took aim at his soldiers. He cocked his pistol and waited for her to turn away. Her head turned. He raised his gun and-  _ click. _

Cold steel pressed to the back of his head. “Drop the gun,” said a voice in thickly accented English. Ukraine’s hands were steady- too steady for someone with such a soft voice. 

Germany considered taking the shot anyway. The bullet wouldn’t kill him; at least he didn’t think so. And if on the off chance that the shooter was human- The barrel pressed insistently against his skull, confirming his thoughts. It had to have been Belarus he was looking at. “I mean it.”

His finger slid off the trigger and he lowered his gun slowly before holding it off to the side. A leather clad hand snatched it from his so suddenly that he almost flinched. 

“Hands on your head. Don’t do anything stupid.” 

When Germany glanced back up at the building across the street, Belarus had disappeared. He laced his fingers together behind his head and heard the clink of a metal chain. One manacle clicked shut around his wrist. Ukraine brought both hands behind his back and locked them together. “Now what?” Germany snapped. “Bringing me to your brother?”

He could practically hear Ukraine’s eyes rolling. “Sit against that wall and be quiet. Our brother couldn’t be bothered to deal with you. We’ll take you to him later.”

A sinister satisfaction burned in Germany’s chest. “He’s too hurt to come fight, you mean?” The look in her eyes told him he was right. 

Before he could bask in the glory of knowing he’d hurt Russia, Ukraine dug her heel into his hurt ankle, where despite the apparent healing, a pain bloomed down to his toes and up to his knee. “I said sit against the wall!” 

Not that he had much choice. He knelt on the pavement with his back to the wall. The chain between the handcuffs was strong. He might break them with enough grit, but such an attempt would be too noticeable. Dread washed through him when he saw Belarus exiting the building on which she’d been sitting. 

Belarus regarded Germany with the same look one might give a roach and turned to her sister. They spoke in hushed whispers in a language Germany didn’t understand. 

Germany waited for their attention to turn away from him and grit his teeth. This was probably one of the stupidest things he’d ever do, but there was little choice. He shifted to get his feet under him, keeping an eye on the sisters. Neither were watching him. With an internal reprimand for being so reckless, he jumped to his feet and sprinted out of the alley. 

“Hey!” Ukraine’s voice was sharp in his ears. Her footfalls followed him out into the street.

* * *

“Hello Prussia.” 

A thin, pale man stood in the center of the road with a rifle aimed at Prussia’s chest. Lithuania rarely looked as volatile as he did now, face dusted in debris and eyes on the rifle in his adversary’s hands. “I was wondering if you’d come alone. Where’s your brother?” His gaze traversed the street, alleys, windows, for any sign of him. Prussia would never leave Germany to fend for himself, would he? Unless he was so confident that he could handle it alone. 

“I couldn’t say, even on the cold day in Hell I’d even want to.” Prussia’s mistrustful eyes followed Lithuania’s sight for any indication of unwanted company. “You however… I’m sure you’re aware of the whereabouts of your new occupier, so why don’t you tell me where he is?” 

He could practically hear the gears in Lithuania’s brain working on overdrive, wondering whether Prussia was confident, stupid, or just bluffing. “Our forces have the city surrounded, you know. Wherever he is, we’ll find him. If he followed you, I’ll see him.” Lithuania paused for a moment. “If he’s holding the line, our soldiers will capture him.” Another pause. “If he’s within the city-” Lithuania smiled, almost sensing the tension resurfacing under the skin of Prussia’s arm. “Then I’m confident Belarus and Ukraine will find him.”

The sight of the ever so certain smile on Lithuania’s face felt like a parody of him in its unfamiliarity. Whatever kindred spirit that lived in the exasperated albeit forgiving smile he may have ever held in older times, was entirely nonexistent in the man in front of him. Prussia shifted on his feet uncomfortably. “Suppose there’s no point in you asking me, is there?” 

Lithuania shrugged. “There’s a point. Did you forget, Prussia, how long I’ve known you? I just need to ask the question and without a word, you answer me. Knowing you so well is the only way I’ve survived so long with you after my blood like a rabid hound.”

Prussia scoffed, choking back words on the matters of Catholic protection, the Commonwealth and Lithuania’s sacrifices. The impulse devolved into a mere unspoken thought, leaving a crueler one to sprout in its dying wake. 

“It’s a shame Poland didn’t know me as well as you did then.” He started, almost pityingly. “Maybe if he had, he’d still be here with you.”  _ Almost _ . His lips had twisted into an eviscerating smile, and Lithuania’s body seized, turning stiff and cold - Unflappable calm, broken for just a moment. 

His eyes narrowed. His grip tightened on the gun. He almost abandoned his plan then and there and shot Prussia between the eyes for daring to taunt him so. 

Prussia however, continued to speak as if he didn’t see Lithuania’s death glare. Whether it was Prussia’s reckless disregard for himself or genuine stupidity at work, Lithuania was unable to tell. “I do have to give you credit where credit is due though. The way you’ve managed to consistently fuck me over in the time that we’ve known each other, is  _ veeery _ impressive.” 

Was Lithuania imagining it, or did Prussia appear to be trying very hard not to laugh in his face? 

“I’m being serious here, you know! If I didn’t have this rifle here pointed at you, I’d give you a tiny round of applause.” He jostled his weapon emphatically. 

“Speaking of that...” Lithuania regained his composure and lowered his gun so the barrel touched the ground. “What do you say we make this interesting, eh?” He laid down the gun gently, and doubt flashed in Prussia’s eyes. “No weapons. No generals or diplomats to decide for us when the fight is over. Just you and me.” 

“And why should I indulge you of all people?” Despite the accusation in his voice, Prussia’s rifle lowered. And there it was again, Lithuania noted. Some give in the form of intrigue. 

“Because you never turn down a challenge.” He looked aggravatingly certain of that fact. 

Prussia sneered. “You’re not a challenge, you-” 

“ _ And _ because you like nothing more than ripping into someone with your teeth. These-” he gestured to his rifle, shrugged. “Too impersonal for you.”

He didn’t miss the eager bristle that passed over Prussia at the mere suggestion. The way his eyes settled on his gun - In their eyes an over-industrialised collective of metal scraps, rather than an intricately designed weapon, made real by the wonders of modern advancement and physics. Lithuania’s eyes flickered to the gun, for a terrifying moment, fearing that he had overestimated Prussia’s pride and that he would be shot down where he stood. 

“You never quit, do you?” He lowered the barrel of the gun down to the ground, and all calm was regained once more. 

Lithuania shrugged “Why would I?”

“Exactly!” Prussia’s voice cut through the air like a dog’s bark through a street at night. His index finger might as well have been a spear with how fiercely he pointed it towards Lithuania. 

“ _ That _ , right there…” There was an unevenness to his tone that Lithuania had grown to know too well for comfort. “Is what I’ve always liked about you.” Lithuania bit back a smile as Prussia set his rifle down on the frosted concrete and took a single step towards him. “You’re fun in that way, I suppose, Lithuania. All that fight in you and nowhere for it to go.” 

Lithuania kicked his own rifle away, watching it skitter across the pavement. He raised his fists. His eyes raked over Prussia, noting everything about his form, his expression, anything he could take advantage of. “And what about you?” he shot back. “All you know is-”

“ _ Wait _ .” His voice cut across whatever observation Lithuania might have been trying to make. To both of their surprise, Lithuania shut his mouth. 

He watched carefully, as the anticipating tremor in Prussia’s hands grew in fervency with every approaching step. 

Lithuania took a stiff step forward, as if it were a refusal of intimidation. Raised his hands into fists. Took another step forward, in spite of his legs stiffening in protest. 

Prussia’s cheeks were mottled red and grey from the biting cold, jaw rooted against teeth so tightly that it ached. Against the backdrop of the destroyed city and the charcoal sky, Prussia’s eyes felt like the only surviving proof of colour. 

In them was a look that Lithuania had seen a fair few times in his years. He’d seen it lock onto Russia in the Great War. He’d seen the other Baltic states tremble when they’d seen his shoulders squared just like that, jaw tight in a vicious snarl that resembled a wolf trying to smile, like the one he wore now. The only times he’d seen Prussia like this ended in bloodshed. He only remembered seeing that directed at him once. The memory of it locked his knees in place. It was only through sheer force of will that he didn’t freeze in mortal terror.

Prussia’s steps quickened in tandem with Lithuania’s pulse. Every old wound seeped as if it were fresh again at the sight of him and broken promises screamed in Prussia’s ears between the thumps of his own heart. His vision was tunnelled, set firmly on Lithuania’s throat, pitifully thin behind the thick wool of his army coat. 

Was it the cold, or could he feel the sting of a dagger against his own, as he had centuries ago? 

Could he even do it? He and Prussia had fought before, countless times. He’d thought he’d managed to forget their shared history, but behind the ageless body of a young man, the tired eyes of an ancient, he couldn’t help but see a child, grinning at him and pulling him into a headlock to play wrestle. How long had it been since Prussia had looked that young? He closed his eyes and blinked away the memory. 

The sound of boots on concrete forced his eyes open. Prussia was in a dead sprint toward him. Panic gripped him for half a heartbeat, but he maintained his position. His fists raised to cover his nose. Lithuania’s eyes scanned Prussia’s approaching form, narrowed as his fingers unfurled itself from a tight leather fist. Prussia’s fingers splayed as if preparing to fist themselves into the front of Lithuania’s coat. 

Lithuania didn’t miss the slackening of his jaw, the widening of his lips to reveal what felt like too many teeth. 

Lithuania dropped his fists, just as Prussia drew one of his own back. A smart step backwards only resulted in the fingertips of Prussia’s gloves brushing the scratchy wool of his coat.

Lithuania’s hand rummaged in his back pocket, legs scrambling to place more distance between them - To buy at least two more seconds before he was torn to shreds by old grudges. 

Safety was ensured as soon as he felt the wooden ridges of a handle against his palm. He wrapped his fingers around the grip of a pistol and pulled it out in one swift motion, aiming it dead center on Prussia’s forehead.

The cold hollow of the barrel might as well have fired with how abruptly Prussia stopped in his tracks. His breath hitched in his throat, eyes widened and every muscle in his body stopped to an unnatural standstill. 

Lithuania’s smile looked almost disappointed as he pulled the hammer back. 

_ Click.  _

“You fight well, Prussia. You fight with honor. But you should know by now that I don’t.” Taking advantage of the moment before Prussia threw caution to the wind, Lithuania grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him around. 

_ Click.  _

“Don’t feel too bad about it.” 

The calm in Lithuania’s voice seared every nerve in Prussia’s body. The gun against his back was forgotten when the cuffs around his wrists registered, legs bucking like that of a branded horse. Lithuania’s hand couldn’t maintain its grip and in a moment of desperate strength, Prussia pulled free.

In a mad grasp for him, Lithuania managed to take his wrist with his free hand just before Prussia managed to face him. Red eyes were firmly trained on his Adam’s apple. 

The metal of the cuffs bit into Prussia’s wrists with how vehemently he fought to escape Lithuania’s grip. The heel of his boot scraped against his captor’s shin as he thrashed. Through the flashes of rapid movement, Lithuania noticed the wet glint of Prussia’s bared teeth. 

Using the forward motion for his own momentum, Lithuania used his other arm to press inwards on Prussia’s elbow. The gun pointed into nothing, but in fairness, it wouldn’t have made much difference. He had Prussia in a clumsy form of an arm bar, and though he didn’t doubt that Prussia would break his own elbow to escape, he had an advantage, at least for the moment. He pressed down on the elbow with his forearm until he dropped to one knee from the exerted pressure. 

“You bastard!” Spit sprayed from Prussia’s mouth as he shouted, managing to angle his head just enough to look at Lithuania from the corner of his eye. “I should’ve known you were up to something, you two faced, backstabbing  _ fucker _ !” 

“Yes, you should have,” Lithuania said. He sounded like a disappointed parent in the way only he could. “If we’d actually gone hand-to-hand, you would have won, no questions asked. So I couldn’t let that happen. Why would I ever go up against you in a fair fight?”

Prussia fell silent at that, eyes setting on the bullet dented cobblestones in the street.  _ Why would he after all?  _ Somehow the tone in Lithuania’s voice almost left him feeling like a chastised child, kicking itself for his carelessness. “You’re right.” 

Lithuania’s brow raised in surprise and interest. He wasn’t aware Prussia had the capacity to admit to imperfection.

He watched him curiously, as Prussia’s shallow pants deepened into actual breaths. The cold pricked at his lungs with every intake. “Why would  _ you _ ever fight without relying on someone or something?” 

That stung. Lithuania’s lip curled. He couldn’t say anything to defend himself, nothing that would be at all genuine, anyway, so he stayed silent. 

“God. You fucking coward...” Prussia’s shoulders trembled as if he were laughing to himself. “The next time I see you, I swear…” Lithuania rolled his eyes.

“Yes, yes, the next time you see me, you’ll make me regret crossing you and I’ll never live down the shame of what your revenge will do to me.” He dragged Prussia to his feet. “I’ve heard it all before, Gisel-” His breath caught in his throat. He’d hoped he would have forgotten by now. “Gilbert.” 

“Oh…” Lithuania didn’t have to even look at Prussia to confirm the curvature of a nasty smile on his lips. Just from his tone he could see it, as if it was in front of his very eyes. “Someone’s nostalgic today, aren’t they?” 

Lithuania said nothing. There was nothing he could say without making the slip of the tongue so much worse. He pushed Prussia through the streets to what looked like the entrance of an abandoned building. A pair of armed guards opened the door as he announced himself, and Prussia’s cheeks prickled with shame as he was escorted inside. 

Up the stairs they went, to a door that Lithuania unlocked and entered with a hand wrapped firmly around Prussia’s arm. There were soldiers indoors, some free-handed but most bound, all looking the worse for wear. They looked up with fear in their eyes which turned to a resignation when they saw that they had only been joined by someone else. A few acknowledged Prussia as a familiar, while others stared at him as if he were diseased. 

Lithuania sat Prussia on the floor with the gun pointed at his head. He kept the barrel firmly trained on him as he went to close the door. “This is only temporary. We’ll have you and your brother brought to Russia soon enough.” He never let his eyes drift from Prussia’s face, knowing his tricks all too well. 

At one time, such a look would have meant death for whoever was on the receiving end. Now, his predator’s instinct was leashed by modernity and civilization. The fight he’d robbed from Prussia felt a loss to him, too. The anticipation of combat had brewed up nervous energy that wouldn’t dissipate, and he kept twitching at every motion in the room.

Just before the lock of the door clicked shut, it opened once more. Prussia’s eyes grew wide. Barely standing in the doorway was a crumpled Germany, held up vertically with the thanks of Ukraine and Belarus. Blood crusted his nostrils and upper lip. His left eye was swollen shut, his right searching the room desperately for a familiar face. Any skin that was visible on his body was made up more of forming bruises than of skin. Lithuania glanced away from Prussia and raised an eyebrow. “What happened to him?” he asked with an air of vague disinterest. 

The sisters dropped Germany on the concrete floor and watched him writhe there, groaning. Ukraine met Prussia’s eyes, the chill in her gaze not fitting her kind face. “He should not have tried to run.” She and Belarus gestured for Lithuania to follow them out of the room and locked the door behind them. They spoke in undertones on the other side of the door.

Germany spat a tooth on the ground only to feel a replacement already cutting through his gum. His blank eyes traveled the room before landing on his brother. His vaguely disappointed expression devolved into misery. “You’re here, too,” he lamented. It took some effort, but he managed to sit up and scoot towards Prussia. “Who got you? Russia?” 

There was a brief moment of hesitation before Prussia answered. “Lithuania.” 

“Oh…” Germany couldn’t hide his surprise. Lithuania had never struck him as much of a threat to anyone, let alone someone like Prussia. “Are you hurt at all?” 

Prussia shook his head. "Just my pride,” came the dismissive answer, an odd burst of humour riding on those words despite the undercurrent of shame. 

Prussia’s eyes landed on the bloodied tooth on the ground and he grit his own teeth. For a brief moment, he almost envied the sad testament of his brother’s grit. His lack of injuries in themselves felt like a failure. 

Another look at his brother however left him choked for even attempting to make a medal out of his suffering. He discarded the thought immediately. "What the hell happened to you though? You alright?" 

Germany forced a laugh, only to taste copper on the back of his tongue. He grimaced. “Would you believe me if I said it looks worse than it really is?” Prussia stared at him dully, and Germany knew that he didn’t have to say a word to answer. He shook his head. “Didn’t think so. But I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me.” Already his bruises were turning green and yellow, slowly returning to his normal flesh color.

“Thank god for that then,” Prussia commented dryly, tearing his eyes off the chameleon-like changes in his brother’s skin. “But really. You looked like a bruise with legs just a minute ago.” He shivered, but whether it were from the cold, or the thought of the extent of Germany’s injuries was a mystery to him. His hands twitched in their handcuffs, and Prussia wanted nothing more than to drag his palms down his face and scream into them. “I knew I shouldn’t have let you go alone.” 

“You didn’t have a choice,” Germany said. “Besides, if anything, I should have been keeping an eye on you. You got here first!” He sighed, moving to resting his head on Prussia’s shoulder. “Do you think someone will make a negotiation for our release? They can’t keep us here forever, can they?”

Prussia shifted against the frigid concrete wall as he opened and closed his hands to stop his fingers from going numb. “If keeping you and I out of governing matters benefits the _Führer_, I’d personally suggest that we get comfortable here.” 

He shivered, wishing more than anything that his hands were tied in front so he was able to fasten his coat around himself. “Even the General can’t make a move without the _Führer’s_ hand up his ass anymore, so it’s ultimately all up to him now.” His eyes fluttered shut as he attempted to get comfortable. 

“Of course,” Germany muttered, rolling his eyes. “Claiming innocence on the defence of being a good soldier while they leave us and hundreds of their troops to die.” He took a deep breath to shut himself up before he began ranting. 

Prussia only nodded and turned back to the other soldiers, watching them for a while in silence. "You know, I think I might owe you an apology.”

“Er.” Germany’s brow furrowed. That didn’t sound anything like his brother. “For what, exactly? You haven’t done anything wrong, as far as I know.”

Prussia shook his head. "No, it's just that... I thought about what you said the other day.” Regret settled over his face. "About the soldiers, national pride, wanting to be human..." 

How could Germany possibly respond to that? He looked away. “It’s alright. Hardly seems to matter anymore, anyway.” Prussia let the topic die with a shrug. 

The silence of the room was only broken by sniffles and soft whispers between the other soldiers. Each barely-restrained sob felt like a punch in Germany’s gut. It had been his job to protect them and lead them to victory, but here he was, stuck in the same hole as them, beaten down and unable to defend anyone. Pathetic. 

Prussia’s voice cut through his self deprivation like a knife. "You need to rest." 

Germany started, straightening his posture. “I don’t need-” But there was no arguing with the look on Prussia’s face. “Fine, but you need to rest, too. Don’t let me sleep all night.” He managed to lie down with some difficulty, resting his head on Prussia’s leg. The strain in his shoulders and his broken nose didn’t make for an easy time getting to sleep, but eventually, exhaustion overpowered his discomfort.

"Will do." The lie slipped off his tongue like warm honey. Germany deserved to rest, but whether it was his own guilty conscience speaking to him, or genuine concern, Prussia was unable to tell. He curled and unfurled his fingers against the cold cement wall he rested against, to stave off the numbness in his fingers as he surveyed the captured soldiers. He listened to their hushed whispers and chattering teeth for what felt like hours, until his eyelids grew as heavy as his thoughts.


End file.
